The years at Hogwarts
by fires of orion
Summary: The first of three stories where Tom Riddle will change from the half blood orphan to Lord Voldemort. There are his years at Hogwarts. Enjoy...
1. The outcast

Chapter One  
The Outcast  
  
It was an icy cold day. The air was chill, and the numerous clouds looked like lumpy porridge in the lead-grey sky. It had been snowing, but not much. All the children, save for one, ran about with their friends, laughing and throwing the occasional snowball. The odd boy out sat under a tree shivering from head to toe. All the other orphans hats and gloves to cover themselves up. His had been stolen and thrown into trees by the other kids. The coldness stabbed him with every breath like a blade of ice against his lungs. He pulled his thin jacket tighter around him, still shivering. His breath hung mistily before him, mingling with the London fog. It was an hour after school on a Thursday, and the orphans were all supposed to play outside to get rid of their excess energy.  
  
He gazed at the frolicking children with a mixture of jealousy and loathing. Not one of the rosy, happy faces belonged to anyone who had ever been kind to him. Even the girls, looking so innocuous in their frilly dresses and pigtails, even they were worthy of abhorrence. Every one of them had, at one time or another, taken the time to kick him in the shins. The boys, however, made the girls look like baby rabbits. He knew they despised him, and he detested them right back.  
  
At a glance, Tom Marvolo Riddle did not seem the kind of person who would provoke generic hatred. He was quite tall and spindly, and he had a rather lost, lonely look about him. He looked like he never got enough to eat, which was true. His orphanage uniform was far too short in the arm and leg, but it was also baggy, and it seemed to hang limply from his shoulders. Tom had jet-black hair that clearly needed a good trim, but it was his eyes that drew the attention. They were bright turquoise, almost unnatural in hue, and when framed by his dark eyelashes, they were no less than striking.  
  
Tom was an intelligent child, which was very bad for an orphan. The nuns who ran the orphanage under the rule of Robert Lister, believed that orphans should be meek and grateful. Tom was neither. He had earned several beatings for commenting on the way things were. The nuns had identified him as a trouble maker and Lister, who ruled with an iron fist, regularly needed to punish one of the orphans so that the rest would remain obedient. More often than not, Tom drew the proverbial short straw. The other orphans took advantage of the fact that Tom was the least liked by repeatedly beating him up. They and he both knew that even if he told anyone, the staff would do one of three things; they would either tell him to stop bothering them and send him back outside. If this was the case, the other orphans would beat him up again for telling. Or the staff would send him up to his room without anything to eat until supper to teach him to 'be strong', but in reality it was to get him out of their sight for a few hours. The last thing they could do was the worst: they could believe him and punish the orphans in question. This was a rarity, only happening when Tom had severe cuts, bruises or broken bones. Once punishment had been carried out he was attacked worse than before in revenge. But quite often when he was been beaten up, strange things happened around Tom than no one could seem to explain, which had branded him as a freak. Once, when he was seven, three older boys were holding him down and taking turns at giving him (very painful) birthday digs. Suddenly all three of them started screaming and shouting as they were covered with fire ants and were severely bitten. Tom had got a very long beating for this as Robert Lister was convinced that he had somehow covered the boys with jam to attract the ants. After been beaten, Tom broke his leg when one of the boys named Malcolm White had pushed him down the stairs for a thrill.  
  
He had often thought about these instances when he was younger. They always seemed to occur when he was feeling angry or scared. Most of the time it had got him into trouble but there were occasions when something even stranger had occurred. People would forget about the event, or remember it differently than it had happened. Tom remembered one occasion when he was been held down by four boys and Malcolm was hitting him, he was so angry and scared. Suddenly, all four of the boys who were holding him down started screaming and holding their hands as though they had been burned. Malcolm on the other hand was flying backwards as if someone had given him an upper cut. Tom wasn't about to stick around. But as he was running, he could have sworn he had heard a loud pop and a flash of light coming from behind him. Later however, it seemed that Malcolm and his cronies had forgotten the whole incident.  
  
Tom continued to look at the faces of the other orphans for a while. They had just finished classes for the day. Tom sat with his bag of work next to him and an open book of maths on his lap. He decided that he would start his work now. It didn't have to be in for a few days but if he didn't do it now he'd only have to do it later. Anyway, it wasn't like he was doing anything special at the moment. He took out a pen and began to work through his questions. Most of the other children around him would have to spend a lot longer on this work than he did (he smiled with amusement that he knew that some of the fourteen year olds at the orphanage couldn't remember the twelve times table). Tom always seemed to be able to absorb knowledge like a sponge. Although his brain often got him into trouble here, he was grateful for it.  
  
He was torn away from his work when two stones hit him in the chest. Rubbing his chest, he looked up to see the three stooges; Larry Griffith, Denis Park and Morris Patrick, better known as Larry, Curly (Denis had very curly hair) and Mo. The trio had an old score to settle with Tom, but then again, most of the orphans did.  
  
"Working hard are we?" Larry sneered.  
  
"Some of us are," Tom retorted. He put his book back in his bag, in case a retreat was called for.  
  
"Don't worry, Riddle. We're not going to chase you. On the contrary. We want you to stay so that you can own up to what you've done," Mo grinned.  
  
Tom didn't understand what he was on about until he looked past the three. About ten meters behind them was a broken window. Tom realised what was happening: he was going to be used as a scapegoat. The rocks that had hit Tom were obviously similar to the one that had broken the window and if he ran, Lister would have him for sure. No one was going to vouch for him just sitting under a tree minding his own business. The only thing to do was to wait.  
  
Soon enough, Robert Lister came marching out of the orphanage. He always marched, having been an officer in the great war. He was a porky man and was very intimidating. All the orphans feared him and, with expression on his face, to say that he was not in a good mood was putting it mildly. As he came out, Curly grabbed Tom to make it look like he had caught him running away, while Mo forced some stones into his pockets. Larry was the first to greet Lister.  
  
"Sir, we saw Riddle running away from that broken window," Larry told him.  
  
Tom said nothing as Lister approached him. He knew that he would never convince him that he didn't do it; Lister just didn't like him. Plus, if he did say what he was thinking, a beating would be a trip to candy land compared to what Lister would do to him.  
  
"Turn out your pockets, Riddle," Lister barked. Tom complied knowing what was coming. He took out the stones and waited for the inevitable.  
  
"Do you have any idea what was going on it that room when the window broke, Riddle?" Lister's voice was scarcely more than a whisper. "I was having a meeting with a couple who wanted to adopt one of you orphans. I was just saying how well behaved everyone here was when, at that exact moment we were hit by a shower of glass. The couple have now left and I doubt that they'll be back. Come with me."  
  
Tom sighed and followed. He knew where he was going: the wailing room. That is what it was called by the children and Tom had been in there more than most. The room was in the basement, so no one above ground could hear any screams. It was a desolate room, the only furnishing was a ratty old twin bed, a small sink in the corner and there were numerous, unpleasantly bloody-looking stains on the floor, wall, and even the ceiling. Tom sat down on the bed, staring straight ahead of him. The furnature was there because, after the beatings, more often than not, he would be left there for a few days with less than usual to eat, if that was possible. Lister left the room and re-entered a few minutes later with a heavy leather belt.  
  
"Take off your upper things, you know the drill," Lister barked. Tom removed his jacket and shirt. He shivered; the basement was freezing, and his undershirt was doing very little to keep him warm. He then knelt next to the bed and waited. Tom heard him raise the belt, and Tom braced himself, still staring straight ahead. The belt made sudden contact, and Tom bit his lip, his shoulders searing. It was quickly followed by another lash, and another, and another... Tom quickly lost count. He tried to focus all his energy on not crying out, or showing any signs of his agony, for that was what Lister wanted. Restraint, however, was coming harder with every crack.  
  
"You-will-be-taught-obedience," Lister shouted, the belt coming down with each word. The belt impacted again and Tom let out an involuntary gasp of pain. Not only was Lister hitting him harder than ever, but he was using the end with the buckle. Somehow, he managed to hit exactly the same area every time. After several blows, Tom could not help it. He screamed at the top of his lungs, praying that someone would hear and call the police. Someone at the back of his mind reminded him that Lister was doing nothing illegal, he was allowed to discipline his charges, but Tom did not care. He shouted as loudly as he could, though this seemed to just encourage him. After what seemed like hours, Lister relented, and Tom collapsed, whimpering softly into the musty quilt of the old bed.  
  
"Let that be a lesson to you,"Lister snarled, rolling up the belt as he rose to leave the Wailing Room. Tom, his face shiny with tears, glared up at Lister, his eyes blazing.  
  
"That's two day you're staying in here, Riddle, and no meals!" he snapped. He stormed out of the room and slammed the door. Tom heard muffled voices out in the main basement area, accompanied by high- pitched laughter. Three seconds later, Malcolm White, Tom's archenemy, poked his head in.  
  
"Heard you got the brains knocked out of you, Riddle," he giggled, his ratty little face splitting into a wide grin. "Two whole days and no food, eh? Don't worry, we're already planning a welcome back party for when you get out of there. Besides, you aren't going to get out of Sunday School, and this week's lesson is going to be fascinating." Malcolm smirked more widely, and he slammed the door. Once he was sure he was alone, Tom reached up and felt his back. His undershirt seemed damp, and was stuck to his skin. Tom winced at the slight pressure of his fingers, so he quickly drew his hand away. His fingertips were smeared with blood. Tom flinched and buried his face in the pillow. 


	2. The snake and the owl

Chapter Two  
The Snake and the Owl  
  
At dinner on Saturday, Tom emerged, heavily bandaged, from the Wailing Room, a look of intense agony chiselled into his face. He seemed to have grown even more saturnine during his stay, and even Malcolm was tactful enough to leave him be for the moment. Tom seated himself at one of the long tables and ate his excuse for food rapidly, wincing once in a while if he moved his arm too quickly. Tom glared mutinously up at Lister's private table, where he was eating hearty helpings of roast beef, mashed potatoes and vegetables.  
  
"Who the hell does he think he is?" he said to himself. He had spent the better part of his time in the Wailing Room in anguish, every second cursing the moment that Robert Lister was born. Tom was suddenly hit by a morbid but eerily satisfying vision of Mr. Lister lying at his feet, writhing in pain, while Tom stood over him, laughing. At this moment, all four legs of Mr. Lister's chair snapped, and he toppled onto the floor. Tom, his face slightly red, turned back to his stew, keeping his eyes down so that Lister would not look at him. A burst of laughter rang through the dining hall, but it was quickly stifled as Mr. Lister, livid with anger, scrambled to his feet, with bits of food covering his jacket and mashed potatoes stuck to is jaw. He lifted his hand and pointed a stubby finger in Tom's direction.  
  
"Riddle!" he shrieked. His face was a shade of deep crimson.  
  
Tom stared silently back, his blood boiling, but his face scarcely showing it. He was very good at hiding his true feelings from his face.  
  
"Yes, sir?" Tom replied innocently. Mr Lister looked about ready to strangle him.  
  
"Out with it, Riddle, what did you do?" He was breathing hard through his clenched, crooked teeth, and his nostrils were flared.  
  
"I'm on the other side of the room, sir. Also I have only just been released from the Wailing room. How could I possibly have done anything to you?" Tom forced himself to keep eye contact. Mr Lister had to accept this, but he kept on giving Tom funny looks as the boy carried his dishes into the kitchen. Tom may have been imagining it, but Mr Lister seemed to be in a horrible temper with him over the next few months. Tom did his best to stay out of the way, but harder to avoid were Malcolm and his friends. They kept pulling him aside and whispering that they were still working on their plan, never stating what their plan was. Tom was strongly suspicious that this plan of theirs involved some new way to make him miserable. One day Tom woke up feeling more irritable than normal. His bad mood got him into trouble (yet again) with Mr. Lister and was given a good beating. Fuming, he returned to his dormitory and seized a book from his trunk. It was the start of the summer holidays. This upset Tom a little; he enjoyed learning new things and also work made him forget his problems for a while. During the holidays, orphans were supposed to be outside and as much as he didn't want to go outside, he didn't want to say inside with an exceptionally ticked off Lister. As he walked through the orphanage doors, he thought he had walked into the wrong place. Instead of laughing and playing, three-quarters of the orphans were standing in a semicircle, whispering excitedly. Malcolm and his closest friends were standing in the very middle.  
  
"What is this?" Tom demanded, his quiet voice icy with suspicion.  
  
"A surprise, Riddle," Malcolm sneered, stepping forward. "We've been planning this for months, all for the one event." Tom made to sneak back up the steps, but the semicircle tightened into a circle, blocking his path. He turned to face Malcolm again.  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"I'm sick of attacking when you're down, Riddle," the other boy snarled, his face forming a demented smile. "Shoving you down the steps... throwing rocks at you... dumping water on you from stair landings... It's all fun, of course, but frankly, if there's no resistance, it gets a little boring." Tom bit his lip and got ready to run. He was not sure what was going to happen, but he knew he was not going to enjoy it. Malcolm took another step forward, his round grey eyes twinkling with anticipation.  
  
"What, you've finally decided to leave me alone?" Tom retorted. He tucked the book into the inside pocket of his jacket and folded his arms protectively over his chest. The maniacal smile had still not left Malcolm's mouth.  
  
"No, Riddle," he spat. "I'm going to fight you when you have your guard up. I'm going to prove to the world that I'm the bigger man-" Here Tom rolled his eyes, for Malcolm was at least a head shorter, "-by fighting you properly. I am going to fight you, and you are going to fight back, and I am going to prove that I can beat Tom Riddle, even when he knows I'm about to do it."  
  
"It took you only four months to come up with that idea?" Tom scoffed. "Quite the brain you aren't you?"  
  
"That's not it," Malcolm insisted defensively. "If I win, these kids get a free-for-all. Same thing happens if I lose, for that matter. Either way, you're going down, Riddle." He was now circling Tom with a look of smug satisfaction on his face. Tom shot Malcolm an insult, but it didn't come out as he intended; a hissing sound came out of his mouth, that while he understood what he had said it was obvious Malcolm had not.  
  
"What was that you just said, Riddle?" he barked. Tom broke into a run, but was promptly shoved back into the circle by a burly older boy. "I asked you a question," Malcolm roared. "Answer it..." Tom looked at Malcolm's face, which had gone as white as a sheet. He was staring at the ground. Tom looked down too. A snake, about as thick as a garden hose and twenty inches long, had slithered from the nearby brush, it's back arched, glaring up at Malcolm.  
  
"You called, Master?" the snake greeted Tom, speaking in the same, swift language. Tom stared at the snake in surprise.  
  
"What do you-you can talk to me?"  
  
"You can speak the language of the snakes" the snake replied. "How may I serve you, Master?" Malcolm and his cronies were backing away from the snake, shaking uncontrollably.  
  
"Afraid of snakes, are you?" Tom asked. He turned to the snake. "Go for him, friend."  
  
"Yes, Master," the snake agreed, nodding. With that, he dove for the boy, snapping at his ankles. Malcolm screamed for help, and Tom just stood there, giving the snake instructions. The orphans were in a panic, and the circle had dispersed. Malcolm's best friend Gordon Green (everyone called him GG because he looked like a Horse) was running for dear life up the steps, but Tom did not care.  
  
"His arm's near the ground, go up his sleeve," he shouted at the snake. "That's it, now bite his ear! Are you poisonous? No? Damn. Oh well, bite him anyway!" Malcolm shrieked with terror and pain, trying to shake the snake off. Tom kept staring at him, seething. This was his chance to get back at him for everything. He was getting a cold satisfaction from watching his enemy helpless before him. The snake came out of his collar and twirled around his arm several times, nipping his fingers playfully. "That will do, my friend," Tom cried. "Return to me. He has learned his lesson." The snake fell to the grass and crossed over to Tom, who picked it up and put it on his shoulder. It looped itself around his neck and continued to look daggers at Malcolm. GG reappeared at Malcolm's side, staring at Tom and the snake.  
  
"I had better go," the snake whispered. "That new boy has notified your guardian. If you ever need assistance, Master, be sure to call for it. Any of us snakes would be willing to help you." The snake slid down Tom's arm and disappeared into the bushes.  
  
"Thank you!" Tom called after it. At that instant, Mr. Lister emerged from the orphanage and hurried down the steps to where GG and Malcolm were standing. "What happened?" He asked, looking as though he already did not believe the story.  
  
"Mr Lister," Malcolm babbled, his breath coming in short, deep bursts. "I was talking to Tom Riddle, and he said something funny."  
  
"Riddle has a sense of humour?" Mr. Lister looked even more disbelieving. Tom glared at him.  
  
"No, he said something weird, in an odd language, and all of a sudden this huge snake came out of the bushes!" Malcolm ranted, pointing at the bush. "Riddle talked to the snake with his funny language, and the snake attacked me! Riddle kept yelling at it, and every time he said something, the snake would do something else!" Lister looked up at Tom, his face contorted. Tom could see that his mind had drawn a blank. He clearly thought the story was complete rot, but here he had the chance to punish Tom Riddle, the boy he detested above all others. Eventually, to Tom's dismay, sadism won over logic.  
  
"Riddle," he muttered, "explain yourself."  
  
"Are you suggesting, sir, that I have the ability to communicate with snakes?" Tom asked in a faux-scrupulous voice. "If you are, sir, perhaps you should take into account the absurdity..."  
  
"I am suggesting nothing, Riddle," Mr. Lister growled. "Follow me."He closed his hand around Tom's left wrist and twisted it sharply. Tom flinched. He was left-handed, and this would mean that writing would be painful for at least a week. Lister led Tom away, but Tom's mind was screaming. There was no way he was taking another beating, not when he had only been defending himself. He hurled Tom into the Wailing Room and hovered in the doorway. "That's five days you've earned yourself, Riddle, and be grateful it isn't more than that. One meal every day; it's far more than you deserve."  
  
"You aren't going to beat me?" Tom cried in disbelief, before he could stop himself.  
  
"Not today. I haven't the time today. Mr White seems to be very shell shocked, and he needs to be sent up to the Hospital wing immediately. If you're lucky, I'll forget about beating you at all, but I wouldn't bank on that."  
  
"I'll get dirty," Tom scorned, looking at Mr Lister's slimy hair. Tom was one of only about four children in the orphanage who held any store by personal hygiene, probably because he was constantly surrounded by dirty people.  
  
"Don't push your luck, Riddle," Lister snarled. He turned on his heel and left Tom to his very relieved thoughts.  
  
On the third day, Tom was actually released. It appeared that Lister had found a new scapegoat. To Tom's delight, it was Malcolm. Apparently, Lister thought he was a bit off-balance because he kept insisting Tom could talk to snakes.  
  
The next few days were quiet for Tom. Since there was no school work to keep him occupied, he read a lot. Most of the orphans steered clear of him, which he was grateful for. He liked his own company, even if no one else did. He also wrote a lot in his diary. He had kept a diary for as log as he was able to write and he had them all in his trunk. He didn't subscribe to the growing belief that diaries were for girls. He had a lot to write about after his experience with the snake.  
  
One night, a few weeks into the summer holidays, something happened that would change Tom's life forever. It was around midnight, but Tom couldn't sleep. The three other people in the room were snoring loudly. Tom knew that he could do nothing but lay there; if he got up and one of the staff were also awake, he would be in trouble again. And since he hadn't been in trouble or accused of something in over two weeks (a record for him), he had no wish to do any thing now. Suddenly there was a tapping noise at the window. Tom looked over, but couldn't see anything through the net curtain. There it was again. And again.  
  
Tom decided that he had better investigate. He stepped onto the hard wooden floor gently, as the boards sometimes creaked. He then tip toed over to the window. Drawing the curtain, he got a shock. It was a barn owl. Tom had never seen one before, except as pictures in books. The owl kept tapping on the glass and as he looked more closely, Tom could see that there was an envelope tied to the owls leg. Tom couldn't decide what to do; if he opened the window, the owl would fly in and make a mess. Animals were not allowed inside. If he got caught, he would be in hot water. On the other hand, someone had given the letter to the owl. Tom was curious as to what was going on. Finally, curiosity won over caution. He undid the catch and the window and opened it. The owl did fly in, but didn't go crazy as he expected it to. In fact it seemed to be sharing his need for stealth. It flew directly over to Tom's bed, landed and stuck out its leg.  
  
Tom moved silently back to his bed. One of the things that he had learned in the orphanage was to move soundlessly under cover of darkness. He carefully untied the letter from its leg. Once he had, the own jumped onto his pillow and started preening itself. Tom withdrew the letter and began to read. A second piece of parchment fell to the floor, but Tom barely noticed; as he was looking at the first letter with an open mouth. He looked back at the envelope to see if there was some sort of mistake. The envelope was made of yellow parchment, and was held together by a large, purple wax seal. The seal was imprinted with a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake, all around a capital H. On the other side, Tom found the address.  
  
Mr T. M. Riddle  
  
Room 34, Whitechapel Home for Orphans  
  
London It was defiantly him. Tom returned to the letter, his mind racing.  
  
Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
Headmaster: Armando Dippet  
(Order of Merlin, Third Class) Dear Mr. Riddle, It is my great pleasure to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Term begins on September 1st, 1938. You will need to catch the 11:00 Hogwarts Express on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at King's Cross Station on that day. A list of school items has been enclosed. We await your owl of acceptance, which must arrive no later than 31st July.  
  
Yours Truly, Professor Albus Dumbledore  
  
Deputy Headmaster  
  
As if reading the letter over and over would make the meaning different, Tom read the letter again and again for about twenty minutes. He was finally torn away from it when the owl began to click its beak at him. He glanced though the school list. Wands, parchment, cauldrons. Was this some kind of joke? No, that didn't make sense. Even though unnatural things happened around him, none of the other orphans had the imagination to pull off such a prank. How did they get their hands on the owl? Even if they were able to get their hands on one, how could they have tied a letter to its leg without hurting it and then directed it to fly to his window? The more he thought about it, the less likely it seems to be a prank. But if it wasn't a prank, what was it? What this letter was saying couldn't be true. Could it? Deciding that he couldn't form an intelligent conclusion without more information, Tom looked back at the letter. We await your owl of acceptance. Is that why the owl had remained? Tom went over to his trunk and took out a blank piece of paper and a pen. He then began to write a letter for the owl to take.  
  
Dear Professor Dumbledore, Is this some kind of joke. School of witchcraft and wizardry? However, as preposterous as it sounds, without additional information I will listen to what you have to say. Please send me more information regarding this school. Tom Riddle  
  
Tom was aware that his letter may appear to sound rude, but given the nature of the letter from this Dumbledore, Tom's head was spinning. He gave his reply slip to the owl, who flew out of the open window and disappeared. Tom carefully hid the letter in the bottom of his trunk and locked it. He got back into bed but the thoughts he was now having only served to aid his insomnia.  
  
Three days rolled by and Tom was beginning to wonder if the letter was a joke. However none other the other orphans were acting out of the ordinary around him, just as beastly as normal. He stuck by his earlier assessment: none of them had the intelligence to pull of such an elaborate prank and even if they had contributed to it, one or more of them would have made a comment about it. Tom just settled into a routine as the days rolled by.  
  
Then, eight days after he received the letter, it happened. Tom was sitting under his normal tree, reading a book when he noticed that he wasn't alone. He looked up to see a man, in his late forties he thought, standing over him. He was dressed in strange robes. Tom immediately jumped up. Orphans were taught to show respect to visitors or severe consequences would follow. He thought for a moment why none of the other orphans had greeted him. They were a long way from the main gate and he would have passed several of the other children. He glanced around but none of the other children were looking in his direction. In fact, they appeared not to have noticed the new comer.  
  
"Welcome to Whitechapel Home for Orphans. Would you like me to take you to the main office to see Mr Lister?" Tom said to the stranger.  
  
"No, that won't be necessary," the gentleman replied. Tom frowned in confusion. "I am looking for a mister Tom Riddle."  
  
"I'm Tom Riddle," Tom was even more confused now. Except his letter a week ago he had never had any communication with the world outside the orphanage. He had never been considered by any parents for adoption. He sometimes wondered if the other orphans knew his name, having earned the nickname of the playground punch bag. "How may I help you?"  
  
"Ah, good," the gentleman said. "I understand that you asked for additional information for Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry. I came to answer your questions. But first you should read this." And he reached inside his robes and putted out a book that had the same logo on the cover as the wax seal did on his letter. The muggle born guide to Hogwarts, the title read. Tom opened the book and almost immediately dropped it in horror. On the first page there was a photograph of an ancient looking castle with what looked like people flying around it on broomsticks. But the people in the photo were moving. One of the flying people flew close to the camera and waved, grinning broadly. Tom was so shocked that he didn't move for over a minute. He crouched down and carefully picked up the book, as if afraid it might explode.  
  
"W-w-what," stammered Tom while the gentleman before him was smiling broadly. "H-how?"  
  
"We assumed from you're letter that you didn't take us seriously about magic," the man stated. "Not an unusual response. That is why I was sent to make contact with you. My name is Professor Mondain. I teach muggle studies at Hogwarts."  
  
Tom's brain was racing. Magic was real? People could fly on brooms? It was too much information to take in at once. To give himself time to think, Tom asked one question.  
  
"What is a muggle?" he asked.  
  
"A muggle," the professor responded, "is a person who cannot use magic. They are called none magic folk or, more commonly, muggles. We, that is, the wizarding community, hide from the muggle world and very rarely interfere in their affairs. A muggle born is a witch or wizard who was born to two muggles. While you yourself are not muggle born, you have lived your whole life in the muggle world, separated from magic." Tom just nodded dumbly as his mind seemed to have seized up. He didn't register what was said to him next until he heard the professor saying it was time for them both to go somewhere.  
  
"I beg your pardon, but where did you say we're going?" he asked.  
  
"I said that if you intend to go to Hogwarts you will need the proper equipment," the professor repeated. "I will take you to Diagon alley were we will be able to purchase your supplies." Tom looked down at his scuffed shoes when he heard this: he had no money and he knew for a fact that none of the nuns or Mr Lister would buy him a set of magical equipment. It was far more likely that Lister would throw him out of the orphanage onto the streets, the nuns calling him a blasphemer and a devil worshiper and the other orphans would be killing themselves with laughter. It seemed that the euphoria he had felt just a moment ago had burst into despair.  
  
"I'm afraid I won't be able to attend Hogwarts, professor," Tom said, desperately fighting back the tears. "You see, the people I live with would never allow me to go to such a school and I don't have any money to buy anything."  
  
"I believe that you are wrong on both counts, Mr Riddle," the professor said calmly, with a smile on his lips. "Situations like this are dealt with easily. And as to the money, I ran a check on your records before coming to meet you. It seems that when your mother died, she left you an amount of money for your inheritance. While it is not a large inheritance, it should last you a few years at Hogwarts, until a more permanent solution is found. The key to your Gringotts account has been held in the inheritance division of the Wizengamot until you received your Hogwarts letter. But first things first." With that, he pulled out a straight piece of wood that was about a foot in length and waved it over his robes. Tom watched open mouthed as the robes changed before his eyes to look like a professional business suit.  
  
"Now," the professor addressed Tom again, "why don't we go and see this mister Lister?" Tom nodded and led the professor inside. He knocked on the door and introduced the professor to Lister.  
  
"Good morning sir," began Professor Mondain. "I wish to talk to you about Tom Riddle."  
  
"What ever he has damaged or done, please accept my apologies," Mr Lister replied. "Boy," he said sharply to Tom, "wait outside. I'll deal with you later." Tom closed the door behind him and strained hard to listen. He knew it was rude to listen to private conversations, but he couldn't stop himself. This could very well be his future at stake.  
  
"No, no, no. You misunderstand me, sir," the professor was saying. "I'm not here to complain about Riddle. On the contrary. I have come concerning his education."  
  
"Really," Lister was saying. Tom couldn't be sure if he was unhappy that he wasn't going to be able to beat him or surprised about the nature of the professor's visit. "Well, you'll forgive me if I don't know his academic status off hand, but I'm informed that he is a gifted child."  
  
"I have a copy of his results for his last set of exams and as you can see he is very gifted indeed. I am here representing St Christopher's school for gifted youngsters and we feel that Mr Riddle is indeed worthy of a scholarship," the professor replied. Tom couldn't believe his luck; this sounded like he would be able to go after all. He assumed that this was a standard cover story for Hogwarts to use on people (muggles, he thought) who were unlikely to let the children go to Hogwarts.  
  
After a long conversation that he only caught bits of, the door opened. Tom straitened up and tried to look like he hadn't been eavesdropping.  
  
"Riddle, your excellent academic history has been noticed by a respectable private school," Lister said to him. He seemed to be putting on a good face about it, Tom thought. "You have been offered a scholarship with St Christopher's school for gifted youngsters. Make sure that your grades don't drop. Professor Mondain here has agreed to take you into London to shop for your school supplies." With that, he turned on his heel and marched back into his office. Tom set off with the professor to go shop for his things.  
  
AN- hi there. Did you spot the pun about the professor's name: there was a book reference in FB called philosophy of the mundane, why muggles prefer not to notice. Mundane aka Mondain. People who know me will recognize there names appear at one point or another (used with their consent of course). Malcolm, for instance is now called Malcolm White, but was originally called Malcolm Gwyn, after my stepfather. When I first started writing, we had a fight and I put him in to spite him. Later on, I noticed and decided I'd better change it. The direct translation of Gwyn in welsh is White. Hence Malcolm White. Please R and R I'll update and put any other tidbits of info on ASAP. 


	3. Shopping in Diagon alley

**Chapter 3**

**Shopping in Diagon Alley**

As Tom walked through London with the professor, he was exploding with questions. Were his parents a witch and wizard? What was Hogwarts like? What sort of things were taught there? He couldn't learn the answers to some of his questions so he started with some simple ones.

"You mentioned that you taught muggle studies, professor," he said, trying to keep up with him. "What is that subject about?"

"In muggle studies, you learn how muggles live and work without magic," replied the professor. "This helps you if you need to spend any amount of time in the muggle world."

Tom continued with this type of question and answer round for quite some time while they were walking. The professor said that he knew little about his parents aside from the inheritance.

Soon they arrived at a small, dank looking pub called 'The Leaky Cauldron'. Tom followed the professor inside. Inside was as gloomy as the outside and Tom fought the urge to cough as he inhaled the strange smelling smoke that was pouring out of more than one pipe.

"David. Don't see you here often. 'Nother Hogwarts tour guide are you?" called the man behind the bar.

"Just the one today, Harold," called back the professor. "Just young Tommy here."

Tom remained silent as he was led out to the back of the pub to a dirty courtyard with only a rubbish bin been the only thing there.

Professor Mondain pulled out his wand again and began counting the bricks. Once he found whatever he was looking for he tapped a brick three times.

The brick moved to reveal a hole. The hole widened. The bricks seemed to melt back to reveal an archway and beyond the archway was a street, bathed in the blazing sunlight. They set off towards a large white building at the end of the street but Tom's feet were on autopilot. His head was spinning. Seeing all these things, the people, the weird smells. In the orphanage he was just another face in the crowd, usually a bruised face with a bust lip. For the first time in his life he felt that he was something special.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the small grey creature outside the Gringotts bank. He was ushered inside and he presented his key to one of the goblins inside.

"This seems to be in order," said the goblin, scrutinising the key closely. "Trundle."

Another goblin came scurrying up and after a few whispered words with his superior, led Tom and his escort down a corridor to a small, rusty cart. They climbed in and the cart took off at a terrific pace. Just as Tom thought he was about to loose his pathetic excuse for a breakfast, the cart lurched to a halt.

"Vault 412," the goblin informed them. He inserted Tom's key into the lock. There were several loud clicks and the door opened.

Tom had never had any money in his life, so he was dumbstruck by the vault. There was a tiny pile of bronze coins, a reasonable pile of silver ones and a pile of about a hundred gold coins. He asked the goblin if there was anyway he could find out exactly how much there was in the vault.

"There is an enchanted parchment at the far wall of this vault," Trundle replied. "It changes itself every time money is withdrawn or deposited."

Tom stepped over the coins to the far wall to see the parchment, while listening to the goblins explanation to the money.

"There are twenty-nine bronze Knuts to a silver Sickle and seventeen Sickles to a gold Galleon. First year Hogwarts students spend an average of forty Galleons. Generally each year becomes more expensive for new books, potion refills and the like."

Finally reaching the enchanted parchment, Tom saw that in this vault he had one hundred and sixty seven Galleons, fourteen Sickles and nine Knuts. Thinking about what the goblin said, he decided to take sixty Galleons. He may see something that may be helpful that his school list didn't cover.

The cart trip back was just as gut-wrenching as the first time. Fortunately, Tom's breakfast stayed inside his stomach. As he was going outside and breathing in cool fresh air, he had a thought that made him feel worse than ten rides in the Gringotts cart would have made him feel.

"Professor," he gulped fearing the answer. "The goblin said that I'd need about forty Galleons per year. I don't have that much. Does that mean I'll have to leave Hogwarts before my fifth year?"

"No. There are a few options open to you," the professor replied. By the sound of it he had been asked this question before. "Hogwarts pays for basic school supplies if students are unable to afford them. You must declare everything that you buy to Hogwarts, however. The other option is you could take a loan out of Gringotts once your own money dries up. You may do what you wish with this money, not like you can with Hogwarts payment. However, you will need to pay back the loan, with interest, once you reach employment age with a Gringotts loan."

Tom felt a little better hearing this. While he didn't want to feel like a charity case, it was nice to know he would be able to survive through school. He would decide which would be better when the time came. He pulled out his school list and began to read.

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

Three sets of plain work robes (black)  
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear  
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon's hide or similar)  
4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags

SET BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following: _  
_

_The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ by Miranda Goshawk _  
_

_A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot _  
_

_Magical Theory_ by Adalbert Waffling

_A Beginners' guide to Transfiguration _by Emeric Switch_  
_

_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Phyllida Spore _  
_

_Magical Drafts and Potions_ by Arsenius Jigger _  
_

_A First Years Guide to Magical Creatures_ by Quin Taped_  
_

_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection _by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 set brass scales

1 telescope

Students may also bring an owl or a cat or a toad.

PARENTS SHOULD REMEMBER THAT FIRST-YEAR STUDENTS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.

Tom decided to get the robes out of the way first. He went into Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. The shop was empty except for a few assistants. He had a time in the robe shop. As he was much taller than the average first year, he was fitted with third year robes, which he immediately discovered were far too baggy.

"That's no problem, dear," said the assistant good-naturedly. She tapped the hem of the robes with her wand, and they were immediately a perfect fit. Then he had to have his Dragon hide gloves enchanted so that they were long enough to accommodate his lanky hands and long thin fingers. He paid for his purchases and hurried out of the store, laden with bags. He met up with the professor, who had bought him his potion ingredients and his cauldron. Together they went to the bookstore, Flourish and Blotts. Tom decided to start to be economical with his money as early as possible. He was able to find most of his book list on the second hand book shelf. This left him with enough to browse for other books. He decided on an encyclopaedia of curses and hexes, a book on a wizards rights and laws, one or two on duelling and a few more on the basics of his subjects. From what the professor had told him, there were both purebloods, who had grown up with magic and muggle born who, like him had only just found out about magic. These books were the basic dos and don'ts of magic, what not to mix with what potions, wand safety and the like. The last thing he wanted was to look like an idiot in front of his new friends and professors.

The last shop for school equipment was Ollivander's Wandshop. Professor Mondain told him that he would wait for him in the bar, to walk him home. That meant he would be able to buy a wand, have a look at the Magical Menagerie and a knick-knack store that Tom had seen earlier.

Ollivander's was dusty and dimly lit inside, its walls lined with hundreds of boxes. The only furnishings were a desk and a chair, and the light was coming from an open door near the back of the room. The shopkeeper was nowhere to be seen, so Tom sat down in the rickety chair and waited.

Tom did not have to wait for very long. A man with greying hair and silver eyes emerged from the back room and placed a box in one of the empty shelf spaces. Tom stood up to greet him.

"Are you Mr. Ollivander?" he asked.

The silver-eyed man turned around and noticed Tom for the first time.

"Yes," he responded after a long silence. "Ah, you are starting at Hogwarts." He swept forward and looked into Tom's face. Mr. Ollivander's eyes narrowed suddenly, and he examined Tom more closely. "Are you Katherine Serpens' son?" he inquired.

"I'm Tom Riddle. I don't know who my parents were," Tom stated, stared into Mr. Ollivander's eyes. Something about them felt like they were X-ray machines. They made him uncomfortable. Then again, he thought, his own eyes were not particularly normal themselves.

Mr. Ollivander's face broke into a smile.

"I sold your mother her wand," Mr. Ollivander proclaimed. "Ten-and-a-quarter inches long, cherry and unicorn hair, rather supple. An excellent wand for transfiguration, that was. Now we shall see which wand suits you the best." Mr. Ollivander removed a stack of boxes from a shelf. "Which is your wand hand, Tom Riddle?"

"I'm left-handed," Tom stated. Immediately, a tape measure sprang up and started to measure Tom in odd ways; his whole left arm, elbow to index finger, height, and then it fell down when Mr. Ollivander said to it "that will do", just as it was measuring his nostrils.

"Let's see…" Mr. Ollivander reached into the first box. "We'll try this first. Willow and unicorn hair, nine inches, whippy. Take it in your hand and give it a good wave." Tom obeyed, but to no avail. The wand showed no sign of life. "How about this. Holly and dragon heartstring, twelve-and-a-quarter inches, bendy. Try."

This wand was unsuccessful as well. Tom went through seven stacks of boxes over the next hour, and none of the wands worked. By the bottom of the seventh stack, Tom's shoulder was killing him from all the waving, and he felt so exasperated that he wanted to jump up and down and scream. Mr. Ollivander was getting hoarse from talking so much.

"Troublesome customer, aren't we?" he grinned, coughing. "Your mother found her match in just ten minutes! Oh well, your powers must be choosy. Here, try this one. Yew-wood and phoenix feather, thirteen-and-a-half inches, very solid. Unusual combination too…" Tom reached into the box and closed his fingers around the wand. Instantly, he felt a surge of hot energy shoot down his arm. He lifted the wand over his head and brought it down through the air.

A blast of silver sparks and green light zoomed out of the wand and swirled all around the shop, bringing with it a gust of wind. Several boxes fell off their shelves, and the entire store was illuminated. Tom gasped and stared down at the wand in his hands. It felt warm under his fingers, and was still emitting tiny sparks. Mr. Ollivander clapped his hands with glee.

"That'll be the one, Tom Riddle," he cried. "You have in your hands one of the most powerful wands I have ever come across. This one came from a healthy yew-tree and an exceptionally clever phoenix. We shall expect many great things from you, Tom Riddle."

Tom, his face flushed with relief, let his arm fall, still clutching the wand tightly. He paid for the wand and left. He had a quick look in the knick-knack store and he was instantly grateful that he had been economical with this books or he never would have had enough money. He bought a new trunk, that was charmed to be light as a feather no matter what was put in it. It would be great for his purchases today; his arms were killing him. He left the store and decided to check the Magical Menagerie quickly. The professor had been telling him how useful owls were as pets. As soon as he was inside it became painfully obvious he couldn't have an owl. The cheapest one cost seventy five Galleons. With his limited funds, he couldn't afford it. He was about to leave when a tank at the back of the shop caught his eye. As he got closer he could see that the occupant of the tank was a grey snake with red eyes. As he drew near, it reared up. It looked like an albino king cobra. Tom made sure that there was no one near and began to hiss at the snake.

"Can you hear me," he hissed. "Can you understand me?"

"Yes, I can," the snake replied. "Are you going to buy me?"

"Maybe. If I did, would you harm me?" Tom had to ask the question.

"My teeth are sharp and venomous, but I will not harm you," the snake hissed. "As my master, I would not harm anyone unless ordered to."

Tom called over the assistant and said that he wanted to buy the snake. The assistant looked dubious, but eventually agreed to so long as Tom agreed to take a supply of anti-venom potion. Tom also bought a wicker basket that was charmed to give off heat, keeping the snake warm. He stowed the snake in his trunk and set off to meet the professor. On the way back to the orphanage, the professor told him how to catch the Hogwarts express on September the first. He couldn't believe he had to walk through a barrier between two platforms, but after today he would accept it. They said their goodbyes and went their separate ways.

As far as I know, this method of funding is unique to fanfics, but it makes sense. In the days of old, muggleborns would most likely be peasants so couldn't afford much. And we know from cannon that Riddle is 'poor, but so brave'. I've read a lot of fics where he inherited a fortune, just like Harry, but this seems a little clichéd.


	4. The Four Houses

**Chapter Four**

**The four houses**

Tom read through his books over and over again for the remainder of the holidays. He wanted to learn as much as possible. It didn't strike the other orphans as unusual that he was constantly reading: he always was, even during the holidays. Whereas they saw school as tedious, Tom enjoyed it. He loved learning and never complained about school. He had decided to call the snake Nepenthe. The word meant remedy from grief. The snake was the first real friend he had ever had and talking to him relieved his grief, so the name was suitable. The only place he was able to hide him was in his trunk. He had been worried at first in case there wasn't enough air in there, but he was able to make a small hole in the top to let air in and it didn't affect the magical properties of the trunk. He couldn't leave the trunk unlocked and open unless he wanted to openly display that he was a wizard. Each day he wrote in his diary, ticking off another day until September the first. The other children were still giving him a wide berth after the snake incident and this relieved Tom greatly. He valued his solitude.

On the morning of September the first, Tom woke up with his insides squirming. He glanced at the clock. Half past five. He groaned and tried to get back to sleep, knowing that he wouldn't be able to. The other orphans had got wind of his acceptance to a private school and had all taken turns to say good bye and good riddance. Many (including the orphanage staff) had told him to stay during holiday time. Tom would if he could; he had no desire to return ever but he knew he had to for the summer holidays.

He eventually got up and got dressed. He talked in a low voice to Nepenthe for a few hours until his dorm mates stirred. He went down to breakfast and before leaving was pulled aside by Lister, telling him that if he let his grades slip or broke anything or anything of the sort, when he was sent back to the orphanage, he would regret the day he was born. Tom was tempted to say that he already did, but decided this it wasn't worth a going away beating. Lister had called for a carriage to take him to King's Cross station. He arrived at the station an about half past nine. Once there, Tom walked up to the barrier between platform nine and ten that he had been told about.

"Just run straight through the barrier between the two platforms," professor Mondain had told him. "Make sure that no muggles see you. Beyond the barrier is platform nine and three quarters. You can catch the Hogwarts express from there. The train leaves at eleven o'clock on the dot, so don't be late."

Well, either I'm off to school or these muggles are about to see something very funny, Tom thought. He made a quick check to make sure that no one was watching him then closed his eyes and took off towards the barrier at a run. The impact he was expecting never came, so he opened his eyes. He saw that he was on a largely empty platform, with a big red steam train on the platform. He looked up and saw the sign for platform nine and three quarters. He carried his trunk into one of the empty compartments (easy as most of them were empty) and sat down with a book. He had bought an old copy of Hogwarts: A History and was immersed in it.

As ten o'clock, then half past ten rolled by, the platform and the train was beginning to fill up. Tom looked out of the compartment window and watched all the proud parents waving their children goodbye. He spotted families waving to their children, kissing them goodbye or looking at lists to ensure that they had everything. Feeling depressed, he returned to his book and was left alone with his thoughts. Soon, with the hiss of steam being released from a valve, the Hogwarts Express started up and the train began to pull away from the station.

Immersed in his book, he barley noticed when the compartment door opened. He looked up to see three people standing in the doorway. One had black hair and cold looking blue eyes. The other two, judging by their similarities, were brother and sister. They were both pale, with blond hair, which almost looked silver. They all were dressed in expensive looking robes. The girl and the black haired boy looked like they might be his age, but the other blond boy looked slightly older. Possibly a second or third year, Tom mused. He felt himself tense instinctively. Living in an orphanage for nearly eleven years had taught him to be cautious, almost to the point of paranoia. This way he was able to make an excellent assessment of people. There was something about them that he immediately didn't trust. The posh clothes, the arrogant looks on their faces was the same one might make after stepping in something unpleasant.

"Name?" the blond boy snapped. So much for small talk.

"Tom Riddle," Tom replied.

The three made an expression like they were about to vomit just from talking to him. They turned on their heels and left, slamming the compartment door, leaving Tom very confused and trying to work out what had just happened.

Five minutes later, the door opened again to reveal a much older student, wearing a silver prefect badge.

"Are you OK?" the boy asked. "We've been told that the Malfoy's and someone else are trying to intimidate the muggle born kids."

"I'm fine," Tom said. "They just looked at me like I was filth then left."

"Good. Give us a shout if they try anything," the prefect told him before leaving.

Tom settled back down to his book, but found that he couldn't concentrate on it anymore. He had always been self sufficient. He had had to look after himself because no one back at the orphanage could care less what happened to him. If they came back to pick on him, he wasn't going to run crying like a little girl to the older students, hoping they would sort it out. He would do what he had always done: look after himself. He pulled out the book on curses and began to look through it. None of these were dangerous, but they would surprise the three who were here earlier, especially if they thought he was an inexperienced muggle born. Only problem is that he WAS inexperienced. He tried out some of the hexes on the door, but although he could see he could perform the spell, it was meant to be used on a person, not wood. Therefore he couldn't see how effective it would be. Still, it was more surprise than damage that he was after.

About four hours later, after the food trolley had passed, the trio returned. Tom had only tasted chocolate once before, at last years Christmas party. Several important people had come and to keep up appearances, Lister had allowed each orphan a small piece of chocolate each. He had bought several chocolate frogs and was staring in fascination at the cards that came with them.

"Never seen a wizard photo before, muggle," the blond boy sneered. "Filth like you should be thrown in the rubbish bin as soon as it is born."

The others laughed at what he said. Tom, who was slightly taller than all of them, drew himself up to his full height and looked the blond boy in the eye.

"I belong here," he stated calmly. He was not going to back down lo some schoolyard bully. "I have the same right to be here as you do."

"Are you comparing yourself to me, filth?" the boy snarled. "Locomotor mortis."

A jet of light flew out of his wand and hit Tom in the legs. He felt them snap to attention and then they stopped obeying him. He could no longer move them. He nearly collapsed, but managed to stop himself just in time. He took advantage of the other boy's lack of attention towards him, as he was gloating to his friends.

"Furnunculus," he shouted. The other boy span around, but it has too late. He curse hit him in the face and huge boils began to grow on his nose.

"HOW DARE YOU!" he shrieked. He aimed his wand again…then suddenly it wasn't in his hand any more. The door was open and two older boys were standing there. They both had their wands trained on the angry boy.

"Is there a problem here?" the prefect who was in earlier asked.

"No problem," his the blond boy. "Just making new friends."

They left and the older students performed the counter curse for the leg locker.

"Nice to see someone stand up to a Malfoy," the prefect said. "Watch your back around him in the future. A Malfoy can hold a grudge for a very long time."

With that they left, leaving Tom with his books. Tom returned his wand to the holster on his belt that he had bought in Diagon alley. He felt strange. He had never intentionally performed magic on anyone. Shrugging, he returned to his copy of Hogwarts: A History.

At about six o'clock, a voice could be heard, stating that they would soon be arriving at Hogsmeade station. Tom quickly got changed into his robes and waited. At six-thirty, the train screeched to a halt at the Station, and the students timidly filed off the train. Tom left his luggage on the train like everybody else, tugged the hood of his cloak over his head, and followed the other students down the steps, his pointed hat clutched in his hand. He was glad of his cloak, as it was raining heavily and the wind was picking up. The platform was noisy and crowded, but Tom was able to make his way across it. A tall man, with a weather beaten face and dark hair was standing at the other end of the platform.

"First years, this way!" he cried. "First years, over here." Tom was one of the first to find him, mainly because he was so tall that he could see over everyone else's heads. "Are you a first year? Good. Just stay by me, don't let anyone shove you away. First years, over here!"

Gradually, Tom was surrounded by about forty boys and girls, all shivering in the pouring rain. The man marched them away from the crowd toward the edge of a lake, where ten boats were tied to the dock. Tom got into the same boat as the man. Unfortunately he was joined by the same two first years that were in his cabin earlier. Although they were shooting daggers at him, they weren't saying anything with an adult so close to them.

"Is everybody in a boat?" the man called over the din. "All right, off we go!" The boats magically broke free of the dock and sailed across the lake. Rain kept splashing into Tom's eyes, but he was thoroughly enjoying himself. Tom had never been in a boat before, and it was wonderful. Tom thought he saw an enormous squid dart under the boat, but he might have imagined it.

Tom was the only one who really liked the ride. Most people looked pale and green, and those who did not were leaning over the side of their boats. Tom tried not to watch, but he did notice that the girl from the train was amongst the sickest. He had noticed when he got off the train that her brother's pasty face had been rid of boils, and Tom guessed he had found an older student who knew the counter curse.

Once they had made it back on solid ground, the man led them through a thicket of trees, and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry finally came into view. It was a towering castle with numerous turrets. Above the large oak doors was a burnished copper shield bearing the Hogwarts coat of arms. Tom read the words of the school motto on the shield, "_Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus_," and could not stifle a laugh. He knew enough Latin to realize that this meant "Never tickle a sleeping dragon."

Finally, the students dashed up the stone steps into the entry hall, sopping wet and freezing. The entry hall was beautiful inside, more attractive than any other room Tom had ever seen. The house flags hung on the walls, and their way was lit by glimmering torches. A professor with long auburn hair and half moon spectacles stood before them.

"Thank you Ogg, that will be all. Welcome to Hogwarts. My name is Professor Dumbledore, and I am to be your Transfiguration teacher," the professor began. "You are about to be sorted into your school Houses. There are four Houses at Hogwarts: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each has a noble history, and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. You will be placed in your House based on your character and talents, but trust me, none of the teachers here are about to play favorites. Just because I happen to be head of Gryffindor House does not mean that I will give a Slytherin a poor grade on an outstanding piece of work." A few people sighed with relief, and Professor Dumbledore gave them a reassuring smile.

"Well, without further ado, let's get you lot Sorted." With that, he threw open a set of double doors and the first years scurried inside. Tom found himself in an enormous chamber whose beauty far surpassed that of the entrance hall. There were four long tables, two along each of the longest walls, draped in dyed linen. One table was red, one blue, one green, and one yellow. At the very head of the room was a table with a violet cloth. There were four large stained glass windows (one design for each House) along one of the walls, and the rest of the walls were hung with tapestries. Tom's eyes shot up to the ceiling, which was enchanted to look like the sky outside. Right now it was turbulent and stormy, with the occasional flash of lightning.

As they entered, hundreds of heads turned their way, and Tom suddenly felt very small. He had not known that they had to be Sorted in front of the entire school. Professor Dumbledore swept in, carrying a stool and a patched, frayed wizard's hat. He set the stool down in the middle of the room with the hat on top of it, then stood aside. After a few seconds, and completely without warning, the hat began to sing.

"_I am the Hogwarts Sorting Hat,  
First sewn in days of yore.  
I have lived right here for many years,  
Ten centuries or more.  
My masters were a clever bunch  
With powers of renown.  
They built this place with magic and  
Their names are quite well known.  
Sir Gryffindor, the brave and bold,  
Young Hufflepuff, the kind,   
Bright Ravenclaw, of books and words,  
Slytherin, the shrewd of mind.  
They sought their students far and wide,  
Searching without rest,  
But each had his or her notion  
Of which children were the best.  
Gryffindor loved those of spunk,   
Adventurous and daring.  
Hufflepuff preferred the ones  
Who were patient, sweet, and caring.  
Ravenclaw was fond of those   
Whose brains were sharp and clear.  
Slytherin sought those of wit  
Who held ambition dear.  
When they were getting on in years,  
The founders had a fear.  
When they all were dead and gone,  
Who would choose students here?  
That is where this Hat comes in.  
They chose me as the one  
Who would select the best for them  
Out of the mighty throng.  
So put me on, don't be afraid.  
I've never yet been wrong.  
Hear what I've said upon your head  
And go where you belong!_"

There was an uproarious applause, and Tom felt relief wash over him. He only had to put on a hat, that was not too embarrassing. Professor Dumbledore raised his hands for silence.

"I will read off your name," he shouted over the din, "and you will sit on the stool and put on the Sorting Hat. When the Hat calls out your House, you will go to your appropriate table. Abert, Rupert!"

A small boy with mousy hair staggered forward, shivering from head to toe. The Hat completely covered his face.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" it screamed. The yellow table erupted with cheers, and several Hufflepuffs rose to pat Rupert on the back. Tom realized they must be going in alphabetical order, and his heart sank. He would have to wait forever.

"Bates, Murray!" A girl with golden hair and freckles glided forward and sat down on the stool, placidly placing the Hat on her head. It had barely grazed her head when it loudly proclaimed her a Ravenclaw. She smiled slightly and went over to her new table, where she was greeted warmly.

"Borealis, Aurora" became the first Slytherin, followed by "Darrs, Martin" who was made a Ravenclaw. Tom vaguely caught the name "Dent, Arthur" became the first new Gryffindor before he tuned his attention away from the sorting. It would be ages before it was his turn. As he let his mind wander, he took a look around the four tables, remembering what the hat had said. He didn't want to end up in Hufflepuff, the student looked as competitive as snails and quite weedy. Despite what he had heard, the Gryffindors looked like a bunch of troublemakers. He felt that he was certainly smart enough for Ravenclaw, before turning to look at the Slytherin table. He was certainly powerful enough for them; he had cursed that pale boy (who he noticed in Slytherin) in a heartbeat. He had some ambition, but most of all he wanted to prove that he was no longer the playground punch bag. He wanted to show the world just how powerful he was…

The sorting of "Lestrange, David" into Slytherin brought his mind back to the sorting. He saw that he was the brown haired boy on the train with the Malfoys. There was "Lewis, Mark" sent to the Gryffindor table, then "Malfoy, Bathory." The blond girl he had met on the train strode up to the stool and put the hat on her head. It was barely there for two seconds before the hat screamed "SLYTHERIN." Tom watched her walk to the green table and been applauded by her new house mates, including her brother.

The hat seemed to like Slytherin, Tom mused as "Mallory, Larkin", "Moon, Duncan" and "Nott, Norman" were all sent to Slytherin. But then again, he had let his mind wander for about twenty people. "Pritchard, John" was made a Hufflepuff and "Quinn, James" was made a Gryffindor. Then came the name he was waiting for.

"Riddle, Tom!"

Tom walked right up to the stool, his back straight and his head held high. He could feel the eyes of every person in the hall, following him, wondering where this boy would go. Slowly, Tom lowered himself onto the seat, and he placed the Sorting Hat upon his head. It fell over his eyes, and Tom gripped the edge of the stool very hard.

"Finally," he thought to himself.

"Impatient, are you?" said a tiny voice in his ear. "Mmm hmm. Let's see here. Wow, what a mind! You have quite an intellect in here, Tom." Tom smiled. "You would certainly do well in Ravenclaw with a brain like that. Brave, too. You have many talents, more than even you could imagine." The Hat paused. "Hufflepuff, as you probably know, is out of the question. At such a young age, you have already learned not to trust. Gryffindor wouldn't work for you either," the Hat said shortly. "They'd both reject you. You're too different. It's Ravenclaw or Slytherin, Tom Riddle. Now where shall you go?"

"Aren't you the one who should be telling me, not the other way around?" Tom thought back at the hat. The hat quaked with laughter.

"Ah, how nice it is to see someone remind me of my job, not begging me to put them in their preferred house. This is a challenge, and I do so love a challenge. To Ravenclaw or to Slytherin, that is the question."

"Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of going to Slytherin, or rise against it in Ravenclaw…" Tom finished.

"Cleaver and cunning, lad. Salazar himself would recognise your potential. You have a great thirst to prove yourself, my boy. It is obvious that the house for you is SLYTHERIN!" The hat had shouted the last word out loud. Tom pulled the Hat off his eyes. The entire hall was still watching him as he shakily rose, placed the Hat on the stool, and ambled over to the green table. As he approached, he got the impression that the other Slytherins were less than pleased with the hats choice. Oh well, he was stuck with them and they were stuck with him, he thought. Might as well make the most of it. He sat down at the end of the table, but received only a smattering of applause and none of the handshakes the others had gotten from their table. Tom was used to cold receptions, but was unprepared for this one. He missed the rest of the sorting as the was keeping a close eye on his new house mates.

The blond boy from the train had his wand out and although it was aimed at Tom, he seemed to be searching for a reason not to curse him there and then. It was his sister who stopped him.

"The teachers will see you, Nero," she said. "Do it when there are no witnesses."

The boy relented but looked at Tom dangerously.

"You're lucky, next time you won't be," he scowled. "No one insults a Malfoy and gets away with it." Tom said nothing.

Once the Sorting was done, the golden plates and goblets were magically filled. Tom stared at the feast. He had never been offered so much food before in his life. A whole weeks worth of pitiful rations at the orphanage wouldn't have equalled the food that was now before him. He promptly began to eat faster than any of the others, as though worried someone would take it all away. The other Slytherins stared at him like they had never seen a human being before. Tom couldn't help himself. The sisters at the orphanage had very strict attitudes towards sins and their answer for gluttony was to give no more food than was absolutely necessary. He could hear the Malfoy boy saying loudly that one couldn't expect proper table manners from muggle filth, but he didn't care. He had always, from his earliest memory, had a pain in his stomach, ranging from mild hunger to near starvation. For the first time in his life he knew what it was like to be full.

As the meal was finished, start of term notices were read out. All too soon, Professor Dippet was ordering all the students to bed. Tom noticed that the prefect leading them up the stairs was also blond. How many Malfoys do we have in this place he wondered. As he got up to follow, he was stopped by one of the new first year boys.

"I'm Norman Nott," he stated, watching Tom closely.

"Pleased to meet you Norman," Tom said, extending his hand. "I'm Tom Riddle."

"You don't recognise my name," Norman sneered, refusing Tom's outstretched hand. "Nero was right, you're nothing but a foul mudblood, aren't you?"

Tom didn't know what a mudblood was but he knew an insult when he heard one.

"Insult me again, Nott and I'll send you to the hospital wing," Tom said coldly, before hurrying to catch up with the rest of the Slytherins. The group was standing outside a bare wall when he caught them up. He only just caught the password ("Dragon's teeth") before the wall opened up, revealing a hidden passage way. A cold stone common room was at the other end of the passage. The blond prefect called all the first years to him. He stood near the fire, so that he could see them all in the flickering light. Tom could see himself standing there one day, with power and respect from the rest of his house.

"My name is Seth Malfoy," he said coldly. "So unless anyone here is a mudblood, you know what that means. You have been sorted into the best house in Hogwarts and therefore you will conduct yourself appropriately. Any fights or problems stay here in the common room. It is acceptable to be in the company of a Ravenclaw but not with the other houses. If I hear anything bad about anyone standing here now you will incur my…displeasure. Now scram. Boys dorms are upstairs on the left, girls on the right." With that he turned and strode away.

When Tom got up to his dorm there were four others there. He decided that it might be easier just to ignore them and go about his own business, especially since the room went very quiet when he entered. He put his trunk at the bottom of his bed and began to get ready for bed. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned round. He briefly saw something flying towards his face before seeing stars. When his vision came back he was surrounded by his room mates.

"A mudblood in Slytherin, how perverse," sneered one.

"Listen very carefully," Nott growled. "Now that you're here there is nothing anyone can do. But you will have no allies in Slytherin. If you have no recognised family here, you don't exist. Slytherin is for Purebloods and you will never belong here."

With a final kick, they left him and went to get themselves ready for bed. Tom crawled into bed after he stopped his lip from bleeding. What a good way to make a good impression, he thought before drifting into an uneasy sleep.


	5. The first week

**Chapter five**

**The first week**

Tom woke up early the next morning. It was a habit he had picked up in the orphanage: if you were the first to be awake, no one could prank you. He washed, got dressed and silently left his dorm with his diary and a book of curses. If last night was any indication, he would need to make sure he could look after himself. He also had

Nero Malfoy's threat of vengeance hanging over his head. He made a few notes in his diary, then put it aside and began looking at curses. There were a few gems in the book, but most of these hexes were harmless. He was getting a vibe from most of these Slytherins, which told him that if he was ever in a duel with them, they would use a worse spell than the jelly-legs jinx. Even so, he made sure that he knew the incantations and the results of the few good curses, then he put the books away in his trunk and left the common room. It was still too early for lessons or breakfast, so Tom decided to try the library. After Seth Malfoy's talk last night, he decided that it might be in everyone's best interest that he didn't spent much time in the common room. He wasn't wanted there and any bad feelings stayed in the common room, which meant that he should be reasonably safe from attack if wasn't there much. Tom was by no means a coward, but he didn't want to cause trouble. If he had no allies in Slytherin, then he wanted to make sure that he didn't turn them into enemies. He was perfectly happy for them to remain neutral around them.

He finally reached the library after many wrong turns. Finally one of the castle ghosts had pointed it out to him. He got the fright of his life when the ghost had walked through the wall just in front of him. The library was _huge._ The orphanage library, his old school library and all of the books that he had seen in Lister's study would only fill one of the shelves on the book cases in this room. He was the only one there in the library, save for the librarian. He had a sour look on his face, so Tom decided to steer clear of him. He went wandering through the shelves of different subjects. He chose a book on transfiguration to read. It was easily the hardest subject taught and Tom wanted to get a head start. More than that, he wanted to show everyone that although he had muggle blood, he was nobodies inferior. He hadn't mentioned his mothers name to the other Slytherins. He knew nothing about her and after his dorm mates had reacted to him, just because he had a muggle name, he didn't want to say anything until he knew more. For all he knew, she and her family could be the scourge of the magical world and although he didn't think his reputation couldn't sink any further in Slytherin, he wasn't about to test that theory. One day he would see if there was any sort of wizard genealogy books in this library.

He was so engrossed in his reading that he barley noticed the time. It was twenty five past eight. Lessons started at nine o'clock. He had to find his way down to the great hall, have breakfast and find out what lessons he had today. He walked as quickly as he could out of the library without running. As soon as he was out of the library, he ran down one of the corridors. Luck was with him this morning, as a trickle of students where coming out of their common room, also off to breakfast. Looking at the colours on their robes, Tom identified them as Ravenclaw. Makes sense, he thought, for their common room to be close to the library. He followed them at a distance until they were in the great hall. When he sat down, he received several glares but nothing more. Obviously Malfoy's warning was still in their minds. He helped himself to bacon, eggs, toast and jam. He was finishing his fourth piece of toast when the timetables came round. Herbology was first today with Ravenclaws.

Then charms followed by lunch. Then defence against the dark arts and transfiguration was last thing today. He grabbed a few more pieces of toast and left the table. He had left his bag in his dorm and it should be safe now to collect it. As soon as he picked it up he headed out to greenhouse number two.

Herbology could have been better. It started with Tom chatting with a couple of Ravenclaws who were also early. They were muggle born and were afraid of Tom at first, but started to be friendly when he told them he wasn't pureblood either. At that exact moment Bathory Malfoy and the other Slytherins arrived.

"Making friends with the mudbloods are we, Riddle?" she sneered, causing the others to laugh. The Ravenclaws retreated and Tom was alone again. As the lesson started, Tom was paired up with another Ravenclaw. He only talked to Tom to insult him, thinking that he was involved with the insults earlier. Tom ignored this; after years in an orphanage, you develop a thick skin to insults. Not everyone was as good at ignoring insults, however. A girl who had just been called a mudblood by the Malfoy girl picked a bud off the Exitiosus Sanies she was tending and threw it at her. She ducked, but Tom wasn't so lucky. He cried out in pain as the viscous green juice ran over his hand and started to make his flesh smoke. The Ravenclaws tried to tell their teacher, Professor Runner, that Tom had squeezed the bud through his own incompetence. Fortunately, she had been walking into the greenhouse when the girl had thrown it (she obviously didn't hear what the Ravenclaw had been called). She took ten points from Ravenclaw and gave a detention to the girl before sending Tom off to the hospital wing for the rest of the lesson.

Charms was mostly uneventful. As there were only Slytherins, there was no one to insult. Tom was still been ignored. The lesson was taught by Professor Flitwick, a tiny man who looked fresh out of school and sounded like he was breathing Helium. Today was only charms theory, wand movements and going over a lesson plan of what charms they would be taught.

A quick lunch later and they were in the defence against the dark arts classroom. Professor Xavier wasted no time. He had a glass tank containing a Red Cap.

"The Red Cap is a distant relative of the vampire," Professor Xavier informed them. "See his fangs? He uses them to drink blood." Professor Xavier then explained how to ward off the Red Cap, hinting that there may be a test on the subject in the near future. Tom paid rapt attention and took so many notes that he used up a whole two-meter roll of parchment and significantly lowered his supply of ink.

Last thing of the day was transfiguration. Professor Dumbledore gave a long lecture about transfiguration and then gave them all a match stick and asked they to transform it into a needle. Bathory was only able to make the match slightly longer and thinner. It had a small point at the end. Tom was the only one able to transform the match completely. Professor Dumbledore gave him ten point for Slytherin. He was especially impressed that the needle even had eye. The other students glowered at him. Obviously a pureblood been beaten by a mudblood is quite humiliating, Tom thought, smiling to himself.

After lessons were over, Tom went straight up to the library. It was a little more busy than earlier but only slightly. Obviously nobody could be bothered studying in only the first week. Tom finished reading the two chapters of the charms book they had been set for homework. He actually read up to chapter five. Then he made notes from some transfiguration books, potion texts and defence against the dark arts. He packed up his stuff and headed down to dinner, only to return once dinner had ended. He was finally shooed out of the library at eight o'clock. Having no choice, he returned to the Slytherin common room. Mercifully he was left alone today. He chatted to Nepenthe for a while before falling into a deep sleep.

The rest of the week seemed to follow a similar pattern to Monday. Only the lessons were different from day to day. Tom would get up early, write in his diary, head off to the library then to breakfast. Then lessons, lunch, lessons, library, dinner, library. He quickly chose his favourites and least favourite lessons, even though he was doing well in all of his lessons. He was board stiff in history of magic. The droning Professor Binns may know his subject upside down, back to front and inside out, but he was up there with watching paint dry on the interest scale. He was so old that he looked like he could have observed most historical events first hand. Tom wasn't a great fan of astronomy either. He preferred practical magic. Charms and transfiguration were amongst his favourites. He wasn't actively trying to show up the other Slytherins, but he studied hard and always found it amusing that although the purebloods bragged about how superior they were and how apt at magic they were, he was able to learn a new spell before they were.

He would enjoy potions a lot more if it wasn't for the Gryffindors. Professor Mevon was head of Slytherin and a no nonsense type of person. He was giving a quiz to see what level they were at when a Gryffindor decided to have some fun and curse Tom. He hit him with the Aphasia curse just as he was about to give an answer to a question about antidotes. Because of the curse, Tom couldn't form a coherent sentence. His answer came out as a jumble of meaningless, random words.

"Black fish paper. Bottle stop," he said. "Hail mutant Hamsters, Dolphin honeymoon pyjamas."

Fortunately, although everyone in the room got a good laugh at his expense, the professor recognised the curse. He performed the counter curse on Tom, who was grateful to be able to speak properly again.

"Thank you sir," he said. "I heard someone say 'Randomenta' behind me."

Mevon swept across the room and glared at four Griffindors.

"Well? If I must, I'll check your wands and find out for myself," he growled. Slowly, a boy with a ratty look about him raised his hand. The professor give him a look that could wilt a giant Redwood tree. "Well, it looks like I have found myself a volunteer to test out our potions," he snarled dangerously. The rest of the lesson passed without incident.

Although Tom was earning a lot of points for Slytherin, it didn't make him any more popular within Slytherin. In fact, several were furious that they were been beaten by a mudblood. This gave him another reason to stay out of the common room. He wasn't any more popular with the other houses either. Because of the points he was earning, Slytherin was ahead of the other houses and several people were still sore that he had indirectly caused them to loose points, like the herbology incident. Tom had to put up with trips and shoves in the corridor, as magic wasn't permitted. He wasn't as lucky in flying lessons. Although he was a very good flyer considering it was his first attempt, he didn't have the experience some of the students had. Four Gryffindors who decided to have a four on one duel cornered him. He deflected and dodged a few hexes before he got hit multiple times and fell fifteen feet to the ground below. He was released from the hospital wing at six o'clock that night with a guarantee from the matron that his eyes would migrate back to the front of his head by the morning. It is quite difficult to read a book or even sleep with eyes literally in the back of your head.

Tom was grateful when the weekend finally came. He used the time to organise his notes and gather his thoughts. Unfortunately he had forgotten about Nero Malfoy and was walking alone down a empty corridor, reading when he finally attacked. He suddenly tripped and when he couldn't get back up he realised that he was in another leg locker. Laying on the floor, he saw Malfoy and another second year advancing.

"No witnesses," Nero sneered. He cursed him and Tom felt a burning pain in his arm. He bit down on his lip. After years of been beaten, he wasn't going to cry out to this rich brat. The pain increased to the point it felt like boiling water was been poured over his arm. Malfoy, having had his fun, let his friend take over. This time the pain curse was aimed at his head. It started off feeling like a mild headache, but grew to feel like his head was about to explode. He still didn't cry out, but only just. Having had there fun by hurting other body parts, they left him there, in the leg locker curse. It took half an hour for the lingering pain to die down enough so that he was able to take the leg locker off himself. He suddenly became aware of a strange taste in his mouth. He spat on the floor. He had bit down on his lip so hard he had drawn blood. Flinching, he picked up his stuff and headed back to the common room.


	6. Answers and accidents

**Chapter six**

**Answers and accidents**

"I've been impressed by you," he herd a voice say. Tom looked up from his book to see the last person he expected talking to him.

"You can never be a pureblood, but you are trying to overcome your bad blood," Seth Malfoy continued. "Admirable."

"So you accept that I belong here?" Tom asked. If he could gain this prefects respect, he was made in Slytherin. He had only been able to find bits and pieces of wizard genealogy, but it was apparent that the Malfoys were amongst the most prominent and powerful pureblood families in the magical world.

"No," Seth responded. Tom's heart sank. "But I am willing to admit that you have surprised me and that is almost impossible for a mudblood. You have become an asset to Slytherin, but without a family, you will never belong." With that, he turned and strode away. Tom returned to his book. It was nearly Halloween and that was the longest conversation he had had with anyone in his own house. He was trying to trace his family tree, but he was running into a wall. He knew that his mother's maiden name was Serpens and it had been changed when she had married the muggle Riddle.

Unfortunately, they seemed to have come from another country; he could find very few mentions to the Serpens family in Britain, although his research did indicate that they were a pureblood family. There was one chance he had. He had found a spell that one could use to tell one the birth names of ones parents. If he could modify it, he may be able to get a better idea of his family tree. There was one catch: the spell in question used blood. Blood magic wasn't exactly smiled upon by the magical world. Some blood magic was borderline dark magic. This ancestry spell wasn't but the thought of deliberately injuring oneself was repellent to Tom. He had been trying to modify the spell for two weeks with little progress. He looked at his notes for a few more minutes before giving up and heading down to dinner.

Halloween passed without incident and before he knew it, it was nearly time for the Christmas holidays. Tom was the only Slytherin to sign up to stay and only one of about three or four students who were staying. He didn't especially mind. He was a self proclaimed loaner. He always had been. Besides, he'd have more time to work on the ancestry spell. He barley noticed his room mates leave (they still didn't talk to him) and before he knew it he was alone in the Slytherin dungeons. He spent most of his time in the library.

Tom woke up on the 19th December feeling groggy. He was awake earlier than usual, but he couldn't figure out why. He soon remembered that it was his birthday. Now unlike most eleven year olds, he didn't jump out of bed and run to open his presents. This was for the simple reason that he didn't have any. His birthdays had just been one miserable experience after another. He was always tortured by someone on his birthday and therefore he enjoyed them even less than any other day of the year. He always seemed to wake up early to make sure that he didn't get a bucket of gravy (how they got hold of that he will never know) over his head. It was still too early to go down to breakfast, so he grabbed a book out of his trunk and went down to the common room. The book was Hogwarts: A History, still unfinished, which wasn't surprising since there were over two thousand pages. He wasn't really in a reading mood, so just skimmed a little of the second chapter, concerning the sorting of the students while the founders were still alive and the creation of the sorting hat. He soon got board and after returning the book, wandered down to the Great hall. He sat down and began to help himself to Bacon and Eggs. He spent the rest of the day in the library, making no particular headway.

The next day he made a breakthrough on the spell. It was more of a potion, that when poured onto paper, would trace the family tree of the spell casters blood. He decided to brew the potion immediately. Fortunately students were allowed to use the potion dungeons during holidays and because there were so few people there, Tom found the dungeon was empty. He helped himself to ingredients from the student supply and while he let the potion simmer for half an hour, he found some paper. It was a muggle piece, about A3 sized. He let the potion cool and drew his wand. Using a cutting charm was easy enough but Tom still couldn't believe he was about to use it on himself.

"Can't turn back now," he said to himself. "This may make your life in Slytherin better, so don't chicken out now."

With that he cut his index finger of his right hand and squeezed out the blood. The white potion began to turn a very light shade of pink and the cut was already beginning to seal itself. Tom was afraid of this; the potion must turn dark pink to red in order for the spell to work. He would need to spill more blood. Closing his eyes, he performed the cutting charm on his palm. Blood poured out of the wound and soon the potion was the right colour. As he didn't know any charms to heal a wound and going up to the hospital wing would make him answer awkward questions, Tom wrapped a handkerchief around his hand. He hoped he wouldn't have a scar. Carefully, he picked up the cauldron and gently poured it on the paper. The red potion began to form lines and words. The first name that appeared was his own name: Tom Marvolo Riddle. A line went up, connecting him to two other names: Katherine Serpens and Thomas Riddle. His parents. Lines went out of their names to their own parents. Tom glanced over his fathers family, but as they were muggles, they didn't hold much interest. It was his magical ancestry that he was interested in. He noticed that his grandfather, his mothers father, was named Marvolo Serpens. He was obviously named for both his father and grandfather, he thought. He watched the lines grow and new names appear. There were several dead ends in the Serpens family tree, like when his great great grandmother's sister had married, but died childless. It seemed like he was the sole living descendant of the Serpens family. The names were getting close to the top of the page. Then one name caught his eye. One of his ancestors had married a woman called Salamair Slytherin. The name couldn't be coincidence, could it? He waited for the next name above to appear, and there, written in his own blood was the name Salazar Slytherin.

Tom was sitting on the Quidditch pitch, thinking about what had happened in the potions lab. Once it was dried (which was surprisingly fast) he hid his family tree in his trunk. He had grabbed his diary, the copy of Hogwarts: A History and a jar that he used to conjure bluebell flames. It was snowing heavily outside and to be truthful, Tom wasn't sure why he had come out here. Maybe he just wanted to get out and get some air after what he had just seen. He was grateful for the jarred fire to keep him warm. He was reading the account of Slytherin:

Salazar Slytherin was one of the most enigmatic of the four Hogwarts founders. He was a renowned Potions master, with more than a passing interest it the dark arts. He was a fanatical pure blood wizard with a deep hatred of muggles. A lot of this has been attributed to his upbringing.

Slytherins parents were killed when he was four in circumstances that escape historians. He was destitute in his home of Wales until a muggle couple took him in. His early accidental magic, common to all adolescent magic folk, was not looked on kindly by his muggle foster parents. Stories tell that he was often beaten within an inch of his life and that he was subjected to many early forms of exorcism. He was soon left to die on the streets. He survived the next few years by his unusual gift of Parseltongue. Grass snakes and local vipers showed him a cave in which to live while they brought him food. He manufactured a wand for himself and worked for Gringotts bank until the age of 17. When he came of age, he was allowed access to his family vault. He purchased himself an Olivander wand and disappeared from history until the founding of Hogwarts.

Slytherin was always opposed to the muggle born students, as the scars of his muggle upbringing had never left him. He was unable to persuade the other founders to only accept pureblood students and so he left. Before Slytherin left the school, he allegedly built a hidden chamber, the Chamber of Secrets. He sealed it before leaving; swearing that no one would be able to open it, save for his own heir. The heir, he prophesised, would one day come to Hogwarts, open the chamber and use the power within to purge the school of those he considered unworthy to study magic. This power that only his heir can control, is thought to be a monster. Hogwarts has been searched many times for such a chamber and many historians now consider it a myth.

There are unconfirmed rumours that Slytherin built the school of Durmstrang. Most of this speculation comes from the schools attitude towards muggle born students, been a pureblood only school.

"Now I understand why I couldn't find anything out about my family," Tom said to himself. "If Slytherin did build Durmstrang, then my whole family went there. His descendant never returned to Hogwarts. At least until now."

He gulped. Did that mean that he was destined to unleash a monster on the school to kill muggle born students? True he had no warm fuzzy feelings towards muggles, but he wasn't a killer. It sounded like he had got off easy compared to Slytherin, beaten within an inch of his life. He was suddenly aware of how cold it was, and decided to leave. He was at the top of the steps when it happened. The wind blew the hood of his cloak over his eyes. At the same moment he slipped on some snow at the top of the steps. Down the steps he tumbled, hitting them painfully. He lay sprawled at the bottom. He tried to move, but his leg was screaming in agony. Twisting round, he could see that is was bent at an odd angle. Defiantly broken. He tried calling for help, but the wind wailed, drowning his cries. The jar of flames was smashed, depriving him of any warmth.

The situation took a few moments to dawn on Tom. He couldn't move, so he couldn't find any shelter from the snow and wind. He was a long way from the castle, so unless anyone was walking right passed the stadium they would never hear him. It was after lunch so no one would miss him until much later.

No one would miss him. Those words burned in his mind. The orphanage wouldn't care if he never came back; one less useless mouth to feed. The other Slytherins certainly wouldn't care, just a half breed that didn't belong with them. Would anyone up at school even notice that he was missing or would they find his body when the snow melted and the next Quidditch match was played. Tom just closed his eyes and laid his head on the ground. Whatever his fate was to be, he would accept it.

It was pure chance that Ogg would go past the Quidditch pitch on his way up to school. Normally he would have walked from his hut up the lawn to the castle, but today he had to go into Hogsmeade, to pick up some tree decorations, so he made a detour on the way back. He saw something at the bottom of the steps, half buried by snow. He couldn't think what it was so moved closer to investigate. He soon saw that it was a student. He quickly checked him over. There was a pulse, but the boy was as cold as ice. Abandoning the decorations, Ogg whipped off his tick outdoor coat, wrapped the boy in it and carried him as fast as he could up to the castle. He carried him to the hospital wing where he found the nurse and Professor Dumbledore. Ogg quickly explained the situation and left the school nurse to do her job. She mended his broken leg in a few moments and revitalised him with pepper-up potion and a few other things. She was confused however, not only with the cut on his hand but also with wounds on his back that couldn't have been caused by the fall.

"I may know about these wounds on his back," Dumbledore said, scratching his chin.

"He was brought up in a muggle orphanage. The cut on his hand I can't explain, but I have my suspicions."

"Ritual bloodletting in the Slytherin common room, maybe?" inquired the nurse.

"It must be hard to be in Slytherin with no family," replied Dumbledore. "Off the top of my head I can think of five spells using blood that may appeal to him. He's a half blood and an orphan. Neither are qualities that Slytherin house smile upon."

"You don't think he tried to…" the nurse couldn't finish her sentence, but both knew what she was thinking. They had to at least ask the question that Tom may have tried to kill himself.

Dumbledore rummaged through his bag, looking for anything that may look like a suicide note. He couldn't find one but he did find a diary. He forced himself only to look for something that may be a suicide note. He didn't like reading other peoples diaries. He found nothing, but he couldn't help notice that he had mentioned that it was his birthday yesterday. He returned the diary to the bag. He would just have to wait until Tom was awake.

Tom immediately realised that someone had found him when he woke up. Although everything he could see was white, he thought that heaven would be more up class than this. And it blatantly wasn't hell. He was surprised that his leg was no longer hurting and even more surprised that the cut on his hand was healed, without even a scar. Soon the doors opened and Professor Dumbledore walked in. He saw that Tom was awake and walked over.

"I wonder if I may have a moment of your time, mister Riddle," he inquired.

Tom stated that he wasn't going anywhere, so Dumbledore sat down.

"You gave us all quite a scare," Dumbledore said. Tom just nodded. "If our groundskeeper hadn't walked by the Quidditch pitch, we certainly wouldn't have found you until it was too late."

Toms' lack of response further concerned Dumbledore. He tried a different tactic. "I know how hard lessons are here, especially for someone who has had no exposure to magic. But you're a bright pupil. I hear nothing but good things about you from all your teachers. If anything is bothering you, we are here to help you." Still nothing. He made one last attempt, a more personal approach. "I here that you've just turned eleven." He decided not to mention that he had looked in his diary. People could be touchy about that. "Congratulations are in order. Did you get anything nice from you're room mates?" The answer he got was the last that he expected.

"Get?" Tom asked, his face a mask of scorn. "You mean presents? I got what I got for the last eleven years: nothing. Who would buy me presents?"

"Surely your friends at the orphanage…" Dumbledore tried to recover the statement he had just heard.

"I don't have friends at the orphanage," Tom spat. "That's why I stayed here. I hate it there."

"Tom, it was an accident on the Quidditch stadium, wasn't it?" Dumbledore asked, fearing the answer.

"Don't worry, I wouldn't try to kill myself," Tom replied, understanding the meaning of the question. Dumbledore breathed a sigh of relief.

"You rest now, Tom," he said. "We don't want you in here for Christmas." He got up to leave. "Oh, one more thing. We noticed a cut on your hand. It was made recently."

Tom had not been expecting this. He couldn't tell the truth about the cut. He'd have to lie.

"Someone left a pet cat in the common room," he said. It wasn't his best lie, but it was all he could think of on the spur of the moment. "It doesn't like me very much."

Dumbledore could tell that he wasn't been exactly truthful, but he didn't press the matter. He would need to keep an eye on Tom; nothing extensive, but enough to make sure that he was all right. As soon as he left, Tom was thinking. Dumbledore seemed to know more than he let on. He would have to watch what he said around him. He rested for a few hours before getting board and finally, ignoring the matrons protests, left and returned to the common room.


	7. Christmas holidays and spring term

**Chapter Seven**

**Christmas holidays and spring term **

On Christmas eve, Tom went to bed early. He was worn out: he had had a broom race against a Ravenclaw third year. She had won, but only just. Tom suspected that Dumbledore had put her up to it. He wondered what Christmas at Hogwarts would be like. At the orphanage, all they ever got for decorations was a straggly tree with sparse tinsel. He was amazed by the huge trees that he had seen been set up in the great hall. He hoped that the Christmas meal would at least be better than what he got at the orphanage. Christmas dinner there was a health inspectors nightmare: a greasy slab of turkey, watery gravy, vegetables that had been cooked so long that all of the goodness was gone. All lukewarm at best. Tom felt ill just thinking about it. Then there was midnight mass in a freezing church down the road. Tom didn't remember much of the ceremony; he was too busy concentrating on making sure that his teeth didn't chatter.

But Hogwarts wouldn't be like that, surely.

He was dead right. While he didn't have any presents, the rest of the day more than made up for. The suits of armour had been charmed to sing Christmas carols. There were sprigs of holly and mistletoe decorating the moving portraits. Even the ghosts were in the spirit (pardon the pun) of things. They were singing in the corridors, and dancing in the great hall. They were also going out of their way to make sure that Peeves behaved himself.

Then there was the feast. The food was better even than the welcoming feast. Rich turkey, Potatoes with creamy butter and vegetables that were out of this world. He ate more than his fill, but was still able to have three helpings of pudding, where he got a coin in each helping: two Sickles and a Galleon. The crackers were the thing he liked the most. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he pulled one and it exploded like a cannon. Out of his dropped a hat that a jester would wear. He refused to put it on. Headmaster Dippet had gotten a night cap with his cracker. After the feast Tom hurried back to the common room with the cracker gifts. He had managed to get a dictator-quill, which would write down what was said in class, a wand cleaning and service kit, a miniature Quiddich stadium, complete with moving players, a wizard wireless and a wizard disguise kit. This last gift was what Tom liked the most. You could change your eye and hair colour, lengthen or shorten hair with two different potions, change your noses shape, the lot. The effects only lasted for an hour, but it was an excellent novelty gift. He gave Nepenthe his present: a live white mouse. He was most grateful.

All too soon, the holidays came to an end and soon the Slytherin common room was full again. Tom stayed in his room, reading. He had been put off the wizard wireless when the first song he heard on it was 'Oh, for the love of the Ghoul in the upstairs water closet' by a group called the Van Helsingers. Just then, the door opened and his room mates entered.

"Enjoy Christmas on your own, mudblood," Lestrange asked.

"I'm not a mudblood, I'm a half blood," Tom replied, not looking up from his book.

"And yes, I did."

"I'll notify the Daily Profit at once," sneered Nott, sarcastically. "Do you thing that makes a difference. You are nothing but a weak, pathetic, stupid little half breed who should have been drowned at birth."

Tom's temper was rising but he was determined not to throw the first punch. He'd let one of them do that: if you leave a bookworm alone in the library for over three weeks, he'd pick up some good curses.

"Maybe I am," he answered, still not looking up from his book. "But I'm a weak, pathetic, stupid little half breed who can rub a supposedly superior purebloods nose in it every time we are have a test." He could see that his room mates had turned a deep shade of red. "It must just eat you up to know that you're academically inferior to a half blood."

That did it. Lestrange had gone for his wand, but Tom was too quick for him. He shot a spell which caused his expensive-looking new cloak to catch fire. While he was stamping on them to put the flames out, Tom blinded him with the Conjunctivitis Curse. Turning his attention to the others, he decided to have some fun, like a cat playing with a mouse. He still owed them a busted lip from the first night.

"_Colere radix_"Tom shouted. His wand emitted a jet of orange light and Nott cried out in pain as large green sprouts popped out of every inch of skin on his face and arms. He pulled one of the sprouts, and it turned out that Tom had hit him with a Carrot Curse. Tom watched in amusement as the boy bounced around, tugging carrots out of his arms. The carrots he removed were quickly replaced by new ones. He used the levitation charm on all of the boys in the room and as they were bobbing around near the ceiling, he broke the spell. They all came crashing back down to earth with a thump. Before they could get up, Tom hit them all with a full body bind. He arranged them on the floor so that they could all see him.

"I am no one's inferior," he snarled. "Least of all yours. Now, I'm going to bed. Try not to disturb me." With that he left them there on the floor while he got ready for bed. Then he went to sleep, with four boys laying uncomfortable on the floor. He finally took the body bind off them the next morning, just before lessons. He knew he'd have to watch his back, but what was new?

Nero Malfoy was been more and more beastly to him as each day passed. Presumably one of his room mates had gone running to him. He was always trying to humiliate him at every opportunity he got in the common room. Tom resumed his plan of only been in the Slytherin dungeons to sleep. He spent most of his time in the library. Having absorbed most of the first year spells, he started to expand his knowledge. He frequently read second and third year books. Amongst the hardest spells he had learnt was the summoning charm. He had first read about it before Christmas, but it took him more than a month to be able to summon anything more than five feet.

One evening, he wasn't so lucky. Nero had sealed the entrance to the dungeon, so Tom couldn't return one night. After several hours, Tom was finally able to gain entrance. He was lucky that the cranky caretaker wasn't lurking around, or he would have had a detention. As he entered the common room, the room went deadly quiet.

"What are you doing here, halfling," Nero sneered. "Slytherin common room is only for purebloods. Catch a hint."

Tom had had enough. He was sick of been put down. He was the sole surviving descendant of Salazar Slytherin. If he shouldn't be in Slytherin, who should. He pulled out his wand and aimed it directly at Nero's throat.

"Take that back," he said calmly, but his heart was pounding. "Or are you too thick to realise when you're about to be hexed?"

"Are you calling me stupid, half caste," Nero snarled.

"You ARE stupid, Malfoy," Tom shot back. He was shaking with rage, but his wand still pointed at the older boy's throat. "You are stupid that you believe your blood makes you better than the rest of us, yet you can't even perform a summoning charm. I'm a year younger and just a poor half breed, yet I can do it. Your stupid because I have a wand aimed at your Jugular."

"You couldn't curse me if your life depended on it," Nero sneered, but Tom saw a tiny spark of concern in his eyes.

"Oh, couldn't I?" Tom asked, watching the other boy closely. "In that case, put your money-that-you-love-to-brag-about where your mouth is."

"Money?" laughed Malfoy. "You couldn't match any amount of money that I'd use."

"I don't want your money; even if I took 1000 Galleons you wouldn't miss it. I mean, each of us will chose three punishments and whoever loses a wizards duel will be obligated to accept these punishments. I will prove to the whole school that I am worth ten of you, Malfoy," Tom stated coldly.

"As much as I'd like to wipe the floor with you, mudblood, Dippet won't allow duels in Hogwarts," Malfoy replied smoothly.

"Not even Dippet can refuse the duel of retribution," Tom snarled and cast a summoning charm towards his dorm. A few seconds later a thick, heavy looking book zoomed towards them. Tom caught it and opened it half way through.

"This is 'A wizards rights guide'. It states:

'In the time of the wizards council, it was decreed that if one wizard insulted another wizard or his family, the wizard in question could challenge the offending wizard to a duel at his convenience in order to seek retribution. No third party could stop the duel and the only place where such a duel cannot take place is in any area where muggles could see the duel. The duel requires an impartial wizard to ensure that no foul play is used. The duel of retribution is rarely used but the law still exists.'"

Tom put the book down and looked at his rival. "Nero Malfoy, I hereby exercise my rights, recognised under British wizarding law and I challenge you to a duel. Under the terms of the duel, I have the right to dictate the rules: firstly, there will be no seconds, just you and me. Secondly, the duel will only end when one of us is unable to fight back. Finally, both of us will produce three punishments to the judge. The looser will accept these punishments. I name the impartial judge as Professor Dumbledore. He is a Gryffindor, so he cannot be accused of showing favouritism to either of us. The duel will take place on Sunday at noon, on the Quiddich pitch."

With that, Tom turned on his heel and headed to the dormitories, leaving a very stunned common room behind.

The next day was a Saturday and the whole school was buzzing with the story of what had transpired last night in the Slytherin common room. Most people knew of the half blood boy that had been sorted into a house famous for its pure blood attitude. Very few people could believe the rumours at first; a half blood, who had lived as a muggle until receiving his Hogwarts letter had challenged a Malfoy, a pure blood family whom many suspected had strong ties to the dark arts.

Tom went to the headmasters office the next morning and he promptly told the headmaster what he intended to do. The headmaster was powerless to stop the duel, so he sent for Professor Dumbledore to discuss the arrangements. Tom had already chosen his three punishments for Malfoy, so he gave the envelope they were sealed in to Dumbledore and left without another word. He spent the rest of the day in the library, surrounded by books, preparing for tomorrow.

That evening at dinner, Professor Dippet made an announcement to the whole school.

"By now I'm sure you know that there will be a duel here tomorrow. As much as I disapprove of this, I am obligated to respect the rights of my pupils. At noon tomorrow on the Quiddich pitch, two students from Slytherin will duel under the eye of Professor Dumbledore. The looser will suffer three punishments determined by the winner. I have both students punishments here and they will not be opened until the conclusion of the duel tomorrow."

The great hall came alive with excitement. Tom could have sworn that he saw several people placing bets with each other on who would win tomorrow. He ate quickly then headed up to the library. He had found a book of duelling spells and he wanted to learn as much as he could. He wouldn't put it past Nero to use some underhanded move to win the duel. He needed a good arsenal of spells at his disposal.

At twelve o'clock the next day, two figures stood in the centre of the Quidditch pitch, glaring at each other. Each had too much to lose. If he lost, Tom would be known forever more as an inferior to pureblood wizards everywhere. If Malfoy lost, the name Malfoy and the name of every pureblood would be tarnished. Professor Dumbledore entered the stadium and magically made his voice louder.

"The duel of retribution, between Tom Marvolo Riddle, Slytherin 1st year and Nero Malfoy, Slytherin 2nd year, is about to begin. Duellists, bow." They both only inched their heads down. The tension in the air was almost tangible. The whole school were on the edge of their seats with anticipation.

"On the count of three, the duel will begin. It will end when one either surrenders or is unable to continue. The loser of the duel will then receive his punishments. Duellists, one…two…three."

Tom fired a disarming charm, but Nero sidestepped it. He in turn shot a pain curse at Tom. This hit. It wasn't the same one he had used on him earlier, but it caused Tom to experience a searing headache. He decided to go on the offensive, firing random spells and hexes. This would make Malfoy too preoccupied dodging his spells to retaliate. It would also buy a little time to let his headache go away. So he began firing random spells, so Malfoy would have to dodge. The idea worked and soon Tom's headache was nothing more than a dull pounding. It was an irritation, but he could continue with the duel.

"Diffindo," Nero suddenly yelled. The cutting charm sliced through his right arm as if it was butter. Blood came pouring out of the wound. Tom was briefly reminded of the spell he had used with his blood. But now was no time for nostalgia. Another cutting charm was been fired. He managed to roll out of the way to prevent injury. Unfortunately the charm cut is robes. Okay, thought Tom. He wants to play rough, fine by me.

"Intempestivus," he yelled. Nero went flying backwards. He looked surprised; obviously he hadn't been expecting that.

"Wingardium Leviosa," Tom shouted. He smirked as he saw Malfoy flailing around in mid air. When he was about fifteen feet up in the air, Tom ended the spell. Nero came crashing back to earth and landed in a heap. Tom waited until he was back on his feet. Some people may have seen this as an honourable and decent thing to do and not hit your enemy when he's down. Tom didn't have any problems hitting an enemy when he was down: he knew Nero wouldn't have been so courteous. He just wanted to prove that he could win even when his enemy was fully mobile. He soon regretted his decision.

"Expellarmus," Nero shouted. He hadn't been expecting a disarming charm. He was able to keep hold of his wand but he was thrown backwards. He cracked his head on the wall of the stadium. While he was still dazed, Nero put a leg locker on him.

"Play time," he sneered. "Relashio." Tom howled in pain as white hot sparks burnt his face and arms. The sparks bombarded him for a full minute. Burn marks were all over his face and arms and the smell of burning flesh lingered in the air. Nero just smirked.

"Did you honestly think that you could beat a Malfoy, half breed?" he sneered. "You have no family, no friends, no money. YOU ARE NOTHING!"

Those words cut into Tom deeper that he thought possible. He had never before felt such blinding rage as he did now.

"I think blasting a hole through your stomach would nicely finish this farcical duel," Nero was saying, unaware that Tom had performed the counter curse to the leg locker.

Tom used an itching curse, but he was so angry that it was a lot stronger than it should have been. Instead of laughing at the tickling sensation, Nero started going ballistic in his attempt to scratch all his skin at once. He continued for almost a minute and he scratched himself so hard that he bled in places.

"Cool down, hot head," Tom said in an icy whisper. "Aestuarium."

A blast of water shot from his wand. It was so powerful that it knocked Nero off his feet.

"Why don't I help you dry off?" Tom snarled. "Siccitas."

The water began to turn to steam. Nero started screaming in pain. Not only was the spell evaporating the water on his skin and clothes, it was doing the same to the water in his body. Tom didn't care: truth be told he was enjoying it. His enemy was lying begging for mercy at his feet. Tom had power over him; power to make the pain stop, power to bring it back again on a whim. Power of life and death.

He lifted his spell, but not from mercy. He had vowed vengeance and vengeance is what he would get. Several pain curses later and the disarming charm later, Tom stood victorious over Nero Malfoy. He had his wand. However the punishments weren't read out until the next day at dinner. Tom had to have an orange paste applied to his burns. Nero had to have several pain-numbing potions administered. He was also forced to drink a huge amount of water to recover form the dehydration spell Tom had used. He kept glowering at Tom, but was wise enough to stay silent. The next day he learned what he would be expected to do now that he had lost the bet.

"As mister Malfoy has lost the duel, I will now read his punishments," Professor Dippet said that night at dinner. He broke the seal on the envelope Tom had given him. He chuckled as he read it to himself before reading it out to the whole school.

"Punishment one: Nero Malfoy will make a public apology and acknowledge Tom Riddle as his equal, not his inferior."

Nero looked like he'd rather take the giant squid out on a date than publicly admit Riddle was his equal. But he had no choice: by entering the duel he had entered a magical contract, obligating him to do what ever was asked of him.

"Punishment two: Nero Malfoy will clean every male toilet in this school, without magic."

A muscle was having a spasm in Nero's cheek. No Malfoy had ever done muggle labour. That was why Tom had chosen it. Obviously others had had the same thought, as sniggers were breaking out all over the hall. But the best was still to come.

"Punishment three: starting next year until he leaves Hogwarts, Nero Malfoy will participate in muggle studies class."

"WHAT?" Nero screeched, jumping to his feet. The first two had been humiliating enough but the thought of doing muggle studies: no Malfoy had ever been subjected to such a humiliation. "I won't do it."

"Yes you will, mister Malfoy," said Professor Dumbledore sternly. "You fully accepted that there would be consequences upon accepting the duel. You are obliged to carry them out. In fact, since the whole school is assembled, you can get the first one over with."

Nero stood and grudgingly said in front of the whole school that Tom was not is inferior. Tom knew that he didn't mean it, but it was fun to watch him humiliate himself in front of the whole school. He decided to give him help with his other punishments.

"Here you go, Nero," he said after Nero had finished. "These will help you with the other tasks." with that he gave him a toothbrush and a biro pen.

"What are these for?" Nero growled.

"The pen is something muggles use to write with," said Tom, grinning evilly. "I thought you might want to get some practice. And the toothbrush is to help you clean the toilets."

The look on Nero's face was priceless. Tom left him to stew in his own juice.

In a later story I might put a Malfoy in muggle studies class. Hope you like. I know the 'duel of retribution thing sounds a bit silly, but I wanted to get at least one duel in before Tom starts dabbling (but that won't happen for a while. He's still in 2nd year remember?) Please R and R.


	8. There and back again

**Chapter Eight**

**There and back again**

After the duel, the rest of the Slytherin house acted more civilly towards Tom. They mainly didn't want to incur his anger as Nero Malfoy had done. They still made remarks about him, but behind his back. In fact once when he was reading, Tom heard Lestrange talking about him to Nott.

"Just leave him to his miserable self. He's going to die old and alone with only his books for company. And everyone will forget there ever was anyone called Tom Riddle." When he noticed Tom was in ear shot, Lestrange made a beeline for the dorms.

For the most part, lessons were going great. Tom was leaving his peers in the dust and passed every test with an average of one hundred and thirteen percent. For over a month after the duel, Nero Malfoy returned to the common room each night with filthy hands and a strong smell of bleach and other muggle cleaning fluids. He always shot a withering glare at Tom before returning to his dormitory.

Seth Malfoy seemed to be both impressed and disgusted with Tom: he was impressed that a half blood had won a wizards duel against his brother but he was less than happy with the punishment and humiliation that Nero now endured. He did keep up his superior pure blood image by reaming out Tom at every available opportunity but sometimes he slipped him a book, usually on dark curses. Tom assimilated the curses but he didn't practice them: they weren't exactly a tongue tying hex or a boil curse.

Easter came and went and before the first years knew it, they were studying in earnest for their first year exams. They were especially motivated to studying when they heard what the older students told them what would happen to them if they failed.

"First you suffer the humiliation of been thrown out of Hogwarts," they were told.

"Then comes the ultimate fate. You know the magicians and wizards at muggle children's birthday parties? They were also thrown out of Hogwarts for failing their first year exams." Needless to say, study was the only thing that the Slytherin first years had on their minds.

The exams started without a hitch. Surprisingly, many of his fellow students had asked Tom to tutor them in various subjects. He did this gladly: not only were they tutored but he had the opportunity to review the material actively rather than passive revision. By tutoring them, they also owed him a favour. That was how things worked in Slytherin house: by doing a favour, a debt was created. One day, that debt may be vital to the individual in question.

The written exams were dull. They had all been provided with special quills that were bewitched to prevent cheating and the parchment was charmed to repel self correcting ink. The only exam that posed any problems for Tom was the History of magic exam, when he mixed up the dates of several Goblin rebellions. Fortunately he identified and corrected most of the mistakes before the exam ended.

In the practical exams, things were very different. In Charms, they had to enchant an Orange to peal itself- extra points were given if the peal was in one strip. In Transfiguration they had two tasks to perform: the first was to transform two twigs into knitting needles and a handful of hay into wool. The second was to turn a rat into an ash tray. The tasks could be completed either way round. Tom transfigured the rat first then, as there a fair amount of time left he showed off a little. He didn't mean to, it just happened. He turned the objects into the desired tools, then charmed the needles to knit and directed them to knit the Slytherin crest. Dumbledore was impressed and promised to tell Flitwick about the impressive charm work for extra credit. Tom may have been imagining it but he got the impression that Dumbledore was discreetly watching him for the remainder of the exam. Their last test was in Herbology. Normally it would have been History of magic, but the Herbology had to be postponed: the greenhouses had been infected by Doxies. Apparently it was a prank and Professor Runner vowed that if she ever caught the person responsible she would make them fertilise the entire greenhouse with Dragon dung, without gloves.

Finally the exams were done with. The next two weeks were relatively easy. While they were still attending class, without the pressure of exams looming over them, they could study easier. They had two weeks before they found out how they did on their exams. In the mean time, Slytherin won the interhouse Quidditch cup, but only just.

Tom felt that they only because there was more money than talent on the team. Nero Malfoy the seeker was, according to the commentator, a player who caught more Bludgers than Snitches, the chasers were all Quafflehoggers and the Beaters were too fond of their clubs. There was a lot of money put into the game, mostly by Malfoy senior. He had apparently hired a coach for the team in exchange for his son getting on the team. The coach, Reyal Pluof had been kicked out of the Falmouth Falcons, when his dirty tactics had cost them the league championship three years in a row due to disqualifications.

About a week later, there was an uncomfortable tension in the air at Hogwarts. The students stopped laughing, the teachers often had whispered discussions, all the while looking around fearfully. This new attitude came with the arrival of the daily profit a few days earlier.

_Grindelwald makes deal with dictator _

_The wizarding community lives in fear after rumours last night were confirmed. The dark wizard Gustavus Grindelwald has indeed forged an with Adolf Hitler, whom he helped rise to power as head of the German government. He is using magic to aid Hitler and his campaign. It is believed that Grindlewald will make Hitler launch an offensive on Britain. _

_Several Aurors have already been killed in failed attempts to confront Grindlewald. It is widely known that Grindlewald is a supporter of the purity of wizards blood, so why has he allied himself with a muggle? Many fear that he hopes to start a war that will weaken several countries, allowing him to take over in the aftermath._

"_We are all disturbed by this discovery but I must ask the magical community to remain calm," the minister of magic stated last night. "Many have lost loved ones to Grindlewald but I can assure you that we are working as hard as possible to bring Grindlewald to justice and to stop the situation from escalating."_

_Despite these comforting words, the public is in a state of panic. While the muggle military of Britain is superior to that of the German's, Grindlewald may aid them with magic, something the British Ministry of Magic is unwilling to do unless the situation becomes critical._

The mood was still present on the final day of term, despite Professor Dippet constantly stating that there was no cause for alarm. Slytherin won the house cup. Tom ate as much as he could, knowing that he would go over two months without proper food. His exam results were the highest in the year, not that that surprised anyone.

With his trunk packed, he sat down miserably in an empty compartment on the Hogwarts express. He was heading back to the orphanage; a place where he wasn't allowed to use magic. All too soon for his liking, the train arrived back in London. He had to get himself back to the orphanage as no one had bothered to come to great him at the station. He didn't get a welcome back or anything. He just blended in with the other orphans. No one asked him how his year had gone. Lister did seem mildly surprised that he had not heard a single bad thing about him from the school.

Tom soon felt hungry again and longed to be back at Hogwarts. He didn't belong here: he had never really fit in with the other orphans, but over this last year they seemed to be even more different from him. Unfortunately they had forgotten about the snake incident so they were as beastly as ever. Tom went out of his way to stay out of theirs. The last thing he wanted was to be expelled for some accidental magic that he might cause. He talked to Nepenthe for hours on end, did all his homework and purchased his second year books, as well as a few extra. He was able to hide these books quite well from the other orphans. He used the dust jackets of muggle books to cover his spell books. The other orphans were used to seeing him with his nose in a book, so they didn't give him a second glance.

Malcolm was still smarting from last year, however. He did all that he could to make Tom's life hell. From dumping water on him to beating him up. He also framed him for vandalising Listers office. Tom got himself a week in the wailing room with nothing to eat but one piece of dry bread and a glass of water every day. Tom was able to intimidate Malcolm to stopping though. Nepenthe had recently shed his skin and as much as Tom had wanted to keep it, he had thought of a better use for it. He waited until Malcolm was asleep then made his move. The skin still had all its features on it, including the eyes. He balanced the skin on his enemies sleeping chest with a note that simply said 'Until next time'. The next morning the whole orphanage was awakened by screaming. Tom could only laugh when he thought of how Malcolm must have felt when he opened his eyes and seen what he thought was a snake looking at him. Suffice to say, Tom's holidays became more bearable after that.

The days dragged by, but eventually Tom was packing his trunk and setting off to Platform nine and three quarters. He slipped through the barrier and managed to find an empty compartment. He pulled out a book from his trunk, which happened to be Hogwarts: A History. He hadn't touched the book since the revelation at Christmas. He flipped it open but he snapped it shut soon after. The account on Salazar Slytherin went on for two more pages and made references to books Slytherin himself had written concerning advanced potions, prophesies and the chamber of secrets. He couldn't concentrate on the new information when he was still preoccupied with the knowledge he had gained on the Quidditch pitch.

This trip he didn't have any uninvited guests. He bought some Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans from the witch with the food trolley. He liked the chocolate and the cards were informative, but he was very unlucky with the beans. By the end of his bag, he had tasted rusty nails, glass, rubber, cyanide, blood, bubotuber pus, burnt spinach and Engine oil. With his luck, he didn't have enough courage to eat a brown coloured bean. It may have been chocolate or it might have been something unsanitary.

Finally, the train arrived at Hogsmeade station. This year he didn't have to take a boat trip with the first years that Ogg was gathering round him. He followed the knot of students to the carriages. Harnessed to the carriages were mighty Palomino horses with wings. Tom expected them to fly the carriages up to Hogwarts, but they pulled them the normal way. Tom was soon sat at the Slytherin table, eagerly anticipating the start of term feast. After been starved at the orphanage for the holidays, Tom couldn't wait to dig in and satiate his hunger. The sorting seemed to take an age, but when the last first year was seated, the tables were piled high with food. Tom dived in, enjoying the taste of proper food again. He did notice that Nero Malfoy was glowering at him. For a moment he couldn't figure out why, but then it clicked: Nero was now in third year and third years began their elective classes. That meant Muggle studies. Tom just snickered before returning to his food.

Once the food was cleared away and the start of term notices were read, Tom got to his feet and followed the other Slytherins to their common room. The new prefect gave the password ("Crystal ball"). Tom climbed the steps up to the second year dormitory and threw himself onto his bed. The other boys just ignored him but Tom was glad that he had finally come home.

I couldn't resist the title.


	9. Dark thoughts and distractions

**Chapter Nine**

**Dark thoughts and distractions**

Tom looked up from his book. For once he wasn't able to concentrate. He had just had History of magic, where Professor Binns had droned on. However, he had droned on about the founding of Hogwarts. It had reawakened unpleasant thoughts that Tom believed he had buried. His thoughts drifted back to the account in Hogwarts: A History.

_The heir, he prophesised, would one day come to Hogwarts, open the chamber and use the power within to purge the school of those he considered unworthy to study magic._

Tom screwed up his eyes to push these thoughts to the back of his brain. 'The prophecy could be wrong,' he thought to himself. 'Maybe there is another descendant of Slytherin out there.' 'Maybe I'm destined to have a child that was the one to fulfil the prophecy.'

These excuses sounded horribly unconvincing in his head. In order to give himself something to do, he headed out to the Quidditch pitch. There was a game going to start in about fifteen minutes. It was the first game of the Quidditch season: Slytherin against Gryffindor. He hadn't intended on going, but it was better than been left alone in Slytherin tower with these dark thoughts.

The sun was shining brightly, but the air was cold. The ground was hard, which would ensure a fast kick off from the ground. There seemed to be a disproportion of colours in the stadium: three quarters were wearing red and gold, while only one quarter supported Slytherin colours. No one supported Slytherin, it seemed, except Slytherin.

Tom watched as the green robed figures made their way out to meet their opposites in red. The commentator was a forth year Hufflepuff, who made snide comments about all of the Slytherin players.

"First we have Captain and Keeper, Kyle Malus. Is that a new broom? Obviously daddy's pampering him again. Seeker Nero Malfoy, a seeker who couldn't catch the snitch if it had a broken wing." Boos from the Slytherin side increased with each insult. After the rest of the introductions were made, the captains shook hands and the players kicked off from the ground. The referee, Professor Plank, threw up the Quaffle and the game began.

Slytherin chasers grabbed the Quaffle out of the air and flew towards the Gryffindor hoops. The chaser with the Quaffle performed a Reverse Pass at the last possible moment to a chaser behind him. The Gryffindor keeper was momentarily distracted and the Quaffle sailed through the centre hoop, making the score 10-0. Gryffindor quickly recovered. Their chasers went on the offensive, scoring twice out of three attempts. Slytherin had a penalty called on them when one of the Beaters, performed a Beater backswing and accidentally struck the Gryffindor Seeker's broom tail. The chaser who took the penalty feinted left and sent the Quaffle through the right hoop, making the score 10-30.

Both Seekers were novices, Tom thought. He had spotted the snitch twice now; neither seeker had seen it yet. Now the Gryffindor chasers were tearing up the field towards the Slytherin hoops. Bludgers weren't a problem now: both beaters were flying alongside the chasers, repelling any of the metal balls. A few minutes later, both teams had scored twice, making the score 30-50. Just then, the Gryffindor seeker spotted the snitch. He flew towards it as fast as he could, but was moving too slowly, because Nero Malfoy had grabbed hold of his broom. The snitch had disappeared.

"Penalty," shouted Professor Plank, while the commentator shouted abuse and obscenities.

The shot was played and blocked by the keeper. A moment later, a Slytherin chaser had been fouled when a beater had deliberately flown into her. The chaser who took the penalty scored, making the score 40-50.

After numerous fouls on the Slytherins behalf, the Gryffindor team had secured another three goals in penalty points. Then Tom saw it again; the snitch was hovering in the dead centre of the Quidditch pitch. And both seekers had seen it at the same time. Unfortunately the Gryffindor seeker was closer. He was closing on the snitch with a look of triumph on his face, then the snitch disappeared… in Neros' hand. The Gryffindor seeker had not taken into consideration the speed of Malfoy's top of the range broom which his father had bought him before term began. It took even the commentator a few moments to recover from such a catch.

"The Slytherin seeker caught the snitch. Slytherin win 190-80," he stated dryly.

The Slytherin supporters went wild. The team were now doing a lap of honor. They flew up into the air and started performing complex aerobatics. Then Tom saw that they had charmed the tails of their broomsticks to leave a trail of green sparks behind. The whole team was now in the process of writing obscenities about the Gryffindor team. If anything, it seemed to make victory all the sweeter.

The Quidditch match had done the trick: it had taken Tom's mind off things. He was now able to concentrate on his work again and enjoyed the position of star pupil in all his classes. In Charms, they were studying simple household charms with their diminutive professor. In Transfiguration, they were learning how to turn Rabbits into bunny slippers. In Herbology, they weren't doing much, besides pruning the Black roses and re-potting the fanged geraniums. But the most interesting lesson, in Tom's opinion was Defence Against the Dark Arts. They were looking at simple dark creatures, mostly from books, but their professor brought in the occasional live specimen. They looked at spells to ward of these creatures, curses and counter-curses and Basic Dark objects. These are what interested Tom the most. Most of the things were harmless (hence they were called basic). Just muggle baiting equipment, such as biting tea cups and books that screamed insults at a muggle reader.

Unfortunately, the bullying in the common room hadn't decreased. Nero Malfoy was the head of the bullies as he had a personal score to settle with Riddle. Not only the humiliation of loosing to a half blood in a duel and being forced to take muggle studies as a result, he was performing poorly in the subject. The remarks and attempted hexes caused Tom to return to the pattern of the previous year. He should almost thank Nero: if he didn't force him into the library so often, he wouldn't spend as much time reading up on advanced magic.

I'm not very good at Quidditch scenes but I think it was OK. Be back soon.


	10. Ther rest of the year

**Chapter ten**

**The rest of the year**

Obviously Tom stayed at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays. Aside from the obvious reason, Grindlewald was starting to stir up trouble again. England was preparing for war and Tom didn't want to be in the middle of the city most likely to be bombed by Grindlewald's muggle ally, Hitler. Besides, in the sanctuary of Hogwarts, the war seemed a long way away. Christmas day was just as splendid as last year, except there were a few more students stayed behind this year. Obviously they shared Tom's thoughts, as he recognised several of the students were muggleborn.

After the students returned, things seemed to return to normal; as normal they could be at Hogwarts. The Daily Profit was reporting daily on bombs dropped on muggle inhabited areas, lists of Aurors killed or missing in action. Surprisingly (or not if you thought about it) there were no losses in Slytherin, every other house had lost a relative or something to this war. No one in Slytherin had. If fact several of the older Slytherin students sniggered openly at the other tables as the morning Daily Profit arrived. Several even took bets on houses or even individuals who would be hit hardest by this wave of terror. The presence of the professors during meals prevented the other houses from doing anything more than shoot murderous glances at them, but fights in the corridor were common. The seventh year Gryffindor boy's dorm had been hit especially hard: of the five, only one hadn't lost anyone. Thor Starr (the head boy) had lost both his father and an uncle, both of whom where aurors. Two had lost cousins, one was a curse breaker, who had been conscripted to breach the wards of one of Grindlewald's strongholds, and one was an envoy. Envoys were attached to Saint Mungo's. Under strict ministry supervision, they provided aid to muggles who had got in the cross fire of a magical conflict. Much like muggle missionaries. The last of the affected boys, a muggle born, whom Tom didn't know the name of, had lost his whole family to a squadron of bombers. The boy, he was told, was under twenty four hour suicide watch for depression. They had become the schools vigilantes, attacking any Slytherin who would dare smirk at someone's loss. Other students often paid them to take revenge on specific Slytherins.

Tom for the most part kept his head down and tried to stay out of trouble. Unfortunately his green and silver robes made him just as much of a target as the rest of his house. Curses and spells shot in his general direction on a daily basis. Trips and shoves while heading to class were just as expected as the portraits moving and talking and ghosts popping out of the walls. The school nurse was constantly busy now, giving out calming concoctions to those who had lost loved ones and bruise potion to hapless students who had been beaten up.

Most of the ghosts brought some small comfort to the victims: the knowledge that a part of their family survived after death and that one-day they would be reunited with them. Most ghosts save one. Peeves of course found the situation hilarious. He would float near the ceiling of the great hall, loudly asking who had snuffed it today, or hovering over those affected, audibly wondering in how much agony they died in and if they did it screaming. Needless to say Peeves wasn't a very popular poltergeist with students or the staff.

For Tom, the Easter holidays couldn't have come quicker. He was going to be the only person left at the school; all of the Slytherins were going home as normal, and everyone from the other houses wanted to spend all the time they could with their family. They may not get another chance. Also it would give his bust lip a chance to heal- he had been attacked two days ago, and he had got another thump from the same people since. Before the holidays began, however, he and his fellow second years had to decide what subjects they wanted to take for their Ordinary Wizarding Levels. The O.W.L.s were taken in the fifth year and would help determine their future. Tom opted for all except muggle studies: none of the other Slytherin's would take it and he had grown up as a muggle. He didn't need to learn how to fit in with them.

The rest of the year passed in a flash. Once again Tom aced his exams, earning the highest scores in the year. Soon he was packed and was on board the Hogwarts express. This summer would prove interesting for him.

Just a short one, but I'm back. Update soon.


	11. The prophecy

**Chapter eleven**

**The prophecy**

Only days into the holiday, Tom was board to tears. Lister and the rest were as obnoxious and nasty as ever. The orphans were as charming as ever. Some of the nuns seemed to think that their charges should join up to fight the Nazis as soon as they were out of nappies. And, of course, the worst part of the holidays was that he couldn't use magic.

A month into the holidays his Hogwarts list came. He had to step over some of the new orphans to open the window to allow the owl in through the window. There were more new orphans now than when he was last here. Obviously war orphans. Tom briefly wondered why they and indeed why he hadn't been evacuated. The only thing he could think of was it would be too much bother for Lister. If he had to stay in London in harms way, then so would they. It was a harsh thing to think of someone, but Tom wouldn't put it past him. He thought that there had been some sort of mistake on his book list, but then he remembered that he had applied for all but one of the available subjects. He would have to work dammed hard and probably wouldn't have any free time to himself but he would be able to fit in all his subjects. And it wasn't as if he had a social life to sacrifice. That explains why there were so many new books on his list. Now he only had to find a way to get out to Diagon alley to but the things. Orphans weren't allowed out on their own, but Tom couldn't envision asking for an escort to help him buy a load of magical supplies.

In the end he was able to fib his way out to Lister, telling him that his professor had agreed to meet him nearer the shops. If it were anyone else, Lister would probably still have refused to let them go. But he seemed okay that Tom should be wandering around alone in a city that a bomb might fall on. Tom just thanked Merlin that Lister wasn't the brightest star in the heavens. A smarter person might have asked how he had communicated with his professor. Tom never sent off (to his knowledge at least) or received any letters and at night they were blacked out, so no messages were possible then. Tom set off for the leaky cauldron as soon as he had finished what could be laughingly called breakfast.

Tapping the appropriate brick three times, Tom stepped through the arch into Diagon alley. His first stop was Gringotts. He needed money for his purchases. He took fifty galleons, leaving only about fifty left. Next year, or the year after that at the outside, he would have to think about a loan. His first stop was Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. His old robes were getting a little tight. He then went to Flourish and Blotts, where he was lucky to find all but one of his books on the second hand shelf. He picked up a few potion refills and then decided what to do with himself. He knew what he wanted to buy, but didn't know if such a thing existed or how much it cost. Also the thing was probably illegal. He went into a magical instrument set and made some discrete enquiries. He was looking for something that would hide his magic from the ministry. He wanted to practice over the holidays and maybe have a little fun with the other orphans, only if they deserved it. After so many years of humiliation, it was only fair. Once the old wizard knew what he was after he asked him to leave. Tom sighed; there was only one thing for it. He would have to try Knockturn alley. He knew there were dodgy dealings going on in there, but he also knew from ear wigging in on the older Slytherin's that one could find almost anything down there, if the price was right. However Tom wanted to be inconspicuous and a nearly thirteen year old strolling through dark magic central wasn't exactly common. Luckily Tom had thought of this. He had brought the disguise kit he had got in his first year. He ducked into an alcove and began his transformations. He changed his distinctive eye color to brown, lengthened his hair slightly and took one potion to deepen his voice slightly and another to grow. Once he had finished, he resembled a five foot eight sixteen year old. The clock was ticking

Walking with more confidence than he felt, he entered the first shop in the alley. The contrast between the two alleys was the difference between day and night. Dark, dusty books, some of which seemed to be glowing sat on shelves. Bottles of blood, jars of pickled people parts and grotesque looking silver instruments were only a few of the things this shop had to offer. Tom suddenly felt something land on his shoulder. Startled, the turned around to find himself looking into the eyes of a balding wizard with a haggard face and a mean look about him.

"This isn't a museum kid," he snarled. "Quit looking and start buying."

Tom didn't beat about the bush. He bluntly asked for what he wanted. The man wanted thirty galleons but Tom got him down to twenty-two. The guy was a no questions asked person. Tom vaguely wondered if he would sell him the thing if he had come in as he normally looked. By the time the guy found the instrument, only ten minutes remained of his hour. The magic masker was a bracelet worn on the wand arm and would block all traces of magic use from the ministry. It looked like a silver snake coiling aroung the wearers arm. Tom decided to test the merchandise first to make sure he wasn't been ripped off. He hovered a book for about a minute before he was satisfied the ministry wasn't sending any warning letters. He turned to pay the man when he paused, looking at the book that he had been levitating. The life and death of Salazar Slytherin. The book looked ancient. He looked through it. It was immediately obvious that it was more in-depth than Hogwarts: A History was. He didn't know why, but he felt like he must have it. It was like looking at a horrific accident: no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't take his eyes off it. The man saw him and came over.

"You want that too and the price goes up to forty galleons, kid," he growled.

Tom only had thirty five galleons left, and even less time. The disguise would ware off any minute and he couldn't afford to take another trip to Gringotts. He'd have to haggle.

"Thirty," he said. "And not a knut more."

"Thirty nine."

"Thirty one."

"Thirty eight."

"Thirty two."

"Thirty seven."

"Thirty three."

"Thirty six."

"Thirty five."

"Done," said the man grudgingly.

Tom paid for his purchases and made a dash for the door. The effects of the potion were wearing off. He didn't stop running until he was safe in Diagon alley and looked like he normally did. He got back to the orphanage and hid the books in his trunk. He would look through them later. He made sure the trunk was locked and headed down to lunch.

Tom put the magic masker to good use immediately. He never used it for revenge, as even though he couldn't be detected, it might attract unnecessary attention if an orphan was turned into a mongoose. He occasionally used it to defend himself, but only did things that could be explained away by the muggle mind. Things like trip jinxes if he was been chased or notice-me-not charms that hid him if he was hiding. These were one of the great accomplishments of the holidays. He had found a small sheltered area near the wall of the orphanage and had hidden it from prying eyes. This was his research area: he read his books, he practiced magic and he brewed potions unseen.

Two weeks before the end of the holidays he opened the book he bought in Knockturn alley for the first time. This was the first time he had worked up enough courage to open it after its hypnotic effect it had had on him in the shop. The book contained a detailed account of Slytherin's life, from its lonely beginning to its abrupt and mysterious end. It contained spells and potion recipes that he had found or created himself, a lot of which was downright nasty. It contained an account of the chamber of secrets, which made the unbidden thoughts in the back of Tom's mind to resurface. The account was much the same as all the rest he had read of.

Then there were Slytherin's prophecies. It seemed to be an obsession for Slytherin to predict the future and to find a way to cheat death. Tom turned to the relevant page…and his face fell. The pages were blank. No, wait…there were words forming on the page. It wasn't a prophecy, but instructions on how to access the prophecy.

Questioning soul who owns this book,

Only one may take a look.

Blood of my one true heir shall wet this page,

To reveal words not seen for an age.

What was it with these blood rites? If Tom spilt more blood, he might not have any left. Still, this was the ultimate test: if he did reveal a prophecy, then would the prophecy bind him? Tom had always believed that the future was not set in stone. What if it wasn't? After sitting there for a long time, he decided. The future was not set. Only possible futures could ever be predicted. If he knew this prophecy, it could help him avoid this fate. Or maybe embrace it. With that the cut himself with his wand as he had done so long ago. He only needed a little. Almost instantly, spidery writing revealed itself from the depths of the pages.

The pure have become tainted,

The strength of magic wanes.

Blood of the impure flows,

Polluting a wizard's veins.

Only one can restore the strength,

Only one can unite the pure.

Only one can tame the impure,

And rule them all forever more.

The task begins in the school we four built,

Unleash the beast.

Empty the school of the unworthy,

On their flesh the monster shall feast.

Fashion your name,

All shall fear.

Your name shall freeze the blood,

Of every Human ear.

Blood of mud and blood of pure,

Shall your ancestry be.

But the world shall be ruled by the pure,

And the purest of all is the.

I have a thing for prophecies. Besides, didn't Slytherin prophesise his heir returning? It's not like I used a Trelawny to make it. Hope u all like. C U soon.


	12. Third year

Chapter twelve

Third year

Tom sat looking out of the window of the Hogwarts express. It was raining heavily. Although it was only one o'clock, the world outside the train was dark. The landscape mirrored Tom's thoughts. His mind had been in turmoil since the encounter with the book. His diary had never had a single account as long. He had been only going through the motions over the remainder of the holidays. He didn't even complain when he was beaten. Earlier that morning had been a blur: Tom was surprised that he had gotten to the train in time. He just hoped that he hadn't left anything behind.

The door slid open, revealing the largest person Tom had ever seen in his life. Tom himself had grown considerably and was now pushing five feet, six inches tall, but this person made him feel about the size of a Cornish pixie. He was at least nine feet tall, with a wild mane of black hair and a ruddy face. He looked young, though, only about eleven.

"Don' mind if I sit in here, do yeh?" he asked tentatively. "Ev'ry other booth's full to burstin'."

"Certainly," Tom replied quietly. The huge boy smiled nervously and sat down across from Tom.

"Yeh in yer fifth year?" the boy asked.

"Third, actually," Tom responded softly, shifting his attention away from the window. "I presume you are starting this year?"

"Yeah. I can' wait!" the boy grinned. "Me name's Rubeus Hagrid, by the by. Yeh can call me Rubeus, but if I catch yeh callin' me Ruby, ye'll be in fer trouble." He laughed heartily. "What's yer name, anyway?"

"Tom. Tom Marvolo Riddle." Tom held out his hand, and Rubeus shook his whole forearm.

"Which House?"

"Slytherin," Tom said, watching the color drain a little from Rubeus's face. "We aren't really as evil as everyone says, though," he added casually. "Well, most of us aren't. Watch out for Nero Malfoy and his goons, though. Then again, you probably wouldn't have many problems with them."

Rubeus laughed again. "No, bullies never did start with me." He hesitated. "Wan' ter play Explodin' Snap?"

"I've never been one for cards," Tom apologized. "Do you have a chess set?"

"Only a Muggle 'un."

"That's fine. I actually find it distracting with the pieces yelling at you," Tom admitted.

Rubeus took a box out of his pocket. Inside were two sets of Muggle chessmen, carved nicely out of two different kinds of wood. Tom, as always, took the darker pieces and set them up, while Rubeus did the same with the pale ones. As they played, Tom's mind was on completely different things, however he welcomed the distraction of the game.

"Checkmate," Tom said, a note of triumph in his voice, as he cornered Rubeus's king.

"Yeh're good!" Rubeus said, impressed. "Great strategist, I'll give yeh that. Play again?"

"Well, Ioh, what the hell." Tom waved his wand and the pieces rearranged themselves. As they played, Tom and Rubeus exchanged life stories. From what he could gather, Rubeus had been raised by his father after his mother left when Rubeus was three years of age.

When asked to recount his own tale, Tom only gave the bare facts that he knew. That he was raised in a muggle orphanage all his life and knew nothing of the magical world until his Hogwarts letter. He left out all of the weirdness. There was nothing less likely to attract attention or get strange looks than by saying, "I'm also the heir of Slytherin and it's my job to exterminate all of the mudbloods in the school. Which class are you most looking forward to?"

The train pulled up at hogsmeade station in the pouring rain. Tom and Rubeus parted company. Tom was so glad that he didn't have to use the boats this year. It was only a short distance between the station and the horse drawn carriages, but he was wet through in that short distance.

The sorting lasted a long time. There were a few new Slytherins but Hagrid wasn't one of them. He was placed in Gryfinndor. At last the sorting was over. Professor Dippit stood up to address the whole school.

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. Before we indulge ourselves with this superb feast, I'm afraid you will have to listen to an old man's droning for a moment."

"Before we begin, I would like for you all to pay a moments silence for the passing of Katie O'Connell, who would have returned for her sixth year. Sorted into Ravenclaw, Katie was a spirited and caring young lady. She had high hopes to become a healer upon graduation, so that she could "help hold back death", in her own words. She was killed with her mother and two younger brothers in an air raid in August. She will be missed."

The whole hall fell silent, although Tom could tell that the rest of his house did so grudgingly. The name sounded common, so Tom reckoned that she was a muggle born. He glanced at Ravenclaw table and saw that they all had their heads bowed, some seemed to be muttering under their breath, as if they were praying for their friend. There were tears shed, from both male and female housemates: she had clearly been popular.

"Hogwarts is one of the safest places one can be," Dippet spoke again. "We must not give into the fear that Grindlewald is trying to plant. By carrying on with our lives as normally as we can, we are doing our bit to defy him."

He continued on for a while, and ended with the usual notices. At last, the start of term feast appeared. Tom immediately began loading his plate as full as he could. Around him, the rest of the school looked very subdued. Well, three quarters did.

"I can't believe that the old coot made us pay respect to a muggle bitch," a sixth year named Romulus Moon was saying, quiet enough so the staff table couldn't hear but loud enough so the nearest table could. The Ravenclaw's were beside themselves with rage and Tom was surprised that hexes didn't start flying. He just wanted for the feast to be over with, then he could get away from the murderous looks that were been sent at him by the other tables. Of course, in the common room, he would get murderous looks from the other Slytherins. Rock, Tom, hard place.

Once in the common room, Tom headed up to his dorm room. It seemed the other boys had decided to treat him as part of the furniture. They were talking about their summer activities without even looking at him. Tom decided that he liked this attitude: he didn't have to trade blows with them before going to sleep. He settled down and was soon asleep.

The next morning, Tom woke up at 7:30. Deciding for once that he didn't want to go to the library, he wrote in his diary and went down to the Great Hall. He ate as students trickled into the hall for breakfast. He didn't have long to wait until the timetables were passed down. He took one look at his and groaned. He was beginning to wish he hadn't taken so many classes. He was never going to get a moment to himself. He wouldn't be surprised if he had nightmares of been chased by angry textbooks by the end of the month.

By the end of the week, Tom collapsed on his bed, wanting to just sleep for the whole weekend. He began to reflect on the week he had had:

In Potions, they were given the description of the effects of a poison from the Professor. They had to research possible poisons that it could be, identify it and brew the antidote. This was one of those lessons where one couldn't skimp on research as in a fortnight, Professor Mevon would poison them all to test their antidotes.

In Transfiguration, they were transforming Tortoises into teapots and socks into scones. Dumbledore had also set them an essay two rolls of parchment and had said something about a tea party.

In Charms they were learning basic notice-me-not charms. Tom had an advantage in this class as he had been practicing these spells over summer, but he played it down. He didn't want anyone to know that he could do magic out of school.

In Herbology they had been dealing with Martian flytraps, which were just like giant Venus flytraps. Tom thought it stupid calling them flytraps when they also tried to take a bite out of him as he was watering it.

In Defence against the Dark Arts, they were currently studying cursed gems. They each had different properties; some would induce an enchanted sleep, some would burn flesh if touched. Others would cause nightmarish hallucinations. They had to identify the curses and break them. No one had been able to on their first try and it took Tom four attempts to break the curse while reliving some of his most violent beatings from Lister.

In Care for magical creatures they were starting off small. They were learning how to care for Kneazles and how to use severing charms on Crups.

In Study of ancient runes they were just learning the basics of translating for now. In Ancient runes, they would learn spells form other countries, in dead languages and other branches of obscure magic.

In Arithmancy Tom was in his element. It was easily one of the hardest classes there was but also one of his favourite. It was a combination of both math and magic. Using magical formulae, one was able to learn things about themselves, like their personality type. More advanced forms of arithmancy and someone could break down spells and wards, modify existing spells or create entirely new spells form scratch. He knew that Arithmancy was required for been a curse breaker and Magistruction (building wizarding buildings).

In Divination they were reading Tealeaves. Tom thought that it was an imprecise branch of magic at best but he stuck with it. Soon they would be moving on to crystal balls.

In History of magic he was at least able to catch up on his sleep (only if he desperately needed it of course). Binns was currently lecturing on the formation of the wand manufacturing code, which prevented certain species been hunted for wand cores, types of trees that were unsuitable for wood and other highly interesting facts.

In Astronomy, they were studying the phases of the moon and the affect different phases had on magic.

Needless to say, he had had a busy week and had a lot of homework.

Hi there. Just a short one this time, just to let you know I haven't abandoned it. The next chapter is when there is some proper action and you get a glimpse of Voldemort. I just want to get it right, not overly cheesy or a 'because he can' story. I've tried to avoid that from the start, making you want to pity Tom, not hate him. I've read too many stories that fall flat after one crap chapter, so I don't want that to happen. It will be up, just be patient.

PS Just a small note to stardust who reviewed a while ago. Yes, Tom is a Half blood. But in the early chapters he didn't know that. He still doesn't know much except for his name. Just wait and see.


	13. Unforgivable

**Chapter 13**

**Unforgivable**

Tom walked out of greenhouse four tired and cranky. He had just had an exhausting double period exam in Herbology. He had done well (surprise, surprise) but even so he had been up half the night revising. He wasn't sleeping well at the best of times recently and he was up half the night trying to remember the four uses of Snickleberry roots and how to correctly harvest the leaves of a Mimblewug. He plonked himself down at his usual place at the table and began to attack his Steak and kidney pie.

"Grindlewald has the right idea," came a voice from further down the table. Tom turned to see what was going on. Nero Malfoy was talking with some other fourth years: Amaya Zolar and Angra Mainyu. "He ignites a war between the strongest Muggle nations and then sits back and watches as they destroy themselves. Then, once the dust clears, he appoints himself head of a new, stronger all wizarding society." He turned his head slightly and noticed that Tom was ear wigging. He continued in a slightly louder voice. "Of course, it'll only be a society for purebloods. The dregs of society will have no place in the new world. Of course, they will be permitted to live. Slaves will always be needed to do the work to menial for a true wizard."

Tom slammed his goblet down on the table angrily, spilling some orange juice. "You got something to say to me?" he asked dangerously. "What does it say about a 'true wizard' if he gets beat by a half breed? I thing you overrate yourselves."

"Everything all right here?" Seth enquired, his cold grey eyes flashing dangerously. He had seen Tom slam down his goblet in anger and he was not going to allow a house fight in his presence.

"Everything's fine," Nero replied. "Riddle and I were just having a little debate."

"Make sure you play nicely in public," Seth warned. He turned his eyes to Tom. "Riddle, get to class. I'm sure you will find today's defence class quite…illuminating."

Tom finished his food, grabbed his bag and left in a huff. There was nothing better he would like at that moment in time than to take a little frustration out on that arrogant, smug little face. His fowl mood increased as he made his way to the Defence classroom on the fourth floor. The stairs kept moving, forcing him to hake several alternate routes. A crowd on the third floor jostled him and Peeves, sensing his bad mood, floated above him and kept dropping stink bombs on him.

Needless to say, Tom was not in the best of humours when he reached the Defence classroom.

"Oh my," Bathory Malfoy cooed as he walked in the door. "I thought I smelt something disgusting. A mudblood just walked in."

It took every ounce of self-control that he possessed to stop himself from cursing every laughing face in the room. Which was a lot more than usual. It seemed like every third year was in attendance. Classes weren't grouped together until NEWT level in sixth year. Of course, certain classes like Potions were doubled up, but Defence wasn't. Something big was going on. Tom took his seat and cast an air-fresh charm on himself to get rid of the excess smell.

They didn't have long to wait for the professor to enter. He had the air of a man under protest, like he would have given anything not to teach this particular lesson. The attitude of their teacher made all noise from the students cease and them to pay rapt attention.

"Good afternoon," he began. His voice seemed a little more raspy than usual. "You are no doubt confused as to why the whole third year has had their schedules rearranged so you could be here. Believe me, if I had my way, you would not be hearing this until you were in your seventh year, if ever while you are in Hogwarts. Unfortunately, this teaching order has come direct from the ministry." If there had been one person in the room not taking him seriously before, they sure as hell were now.

"Today's lesson is on curses. You will not be taught how to cast these curses and if any of you attempt to do so, I will make sure that you are put away for the rest of your lives." He paused to let his comment sink in. A small Hufflepuff girl with glasses and pigtails let out an involuntary giggle.

The professor spun round to glare at the girl, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Fifty point from Hufflepuff and a weeks worth of detention, starting tomorrow," he snapped, before leaving the girl on the verge of tears.

"Anyone else fancy a laugh?" he said to the whole room. "I've just got a shipment of Dune Vipers and I'm in need of someone to help muck them out." No one made a sound. He was usually quite an easy-going professor. Whatever was up, he was not messing around.

"The curses that I am going to talk about today are the darkest, most dangerous and powerful curses known to wizard kind. No government or organisation has ever authorized their use, save dark wizards. Use of any of them will be punished by immediate imprisonment in Azkaban prison for the rest of your life. These are the Unforgivable curses."

"The first is called the Imperius curse. The incantation is Imperio. This curse strips away the free will of a victim, leaving them slave to their masters will. A strong mind, with an incredible sense of self can separate an order from free will and break through the curse. Under the influence of the Imperius curse, someone can be ordered to perform any task: rape a helpless woman, strangle your dearest friend. Anything at all."

"The second curse is called the Cruciatus curse. The incantation is Crucio. This curse induces unlimited agony in a victim's entire body. Dark wizards have been known to use it to extract information, punish disobedience or failure. Sometimes they use it merely as it gives them pleasure to torture an innocent person. Some of the worse muggle tortures have been caused by sheer boredom. I am not exaggerating when I say the curse is unendurable. If left under the curse too long, the pain overwhelms and burns out the mind, leaving permanent and irreversible insanity. Many an auror have met this fate pursuing dark wizards."

"The final unforgivable curse is also arguably the worst. It is the killing curse. The incantation is Avada Kedavra. If this curse is used, death is certain. There is no known shield that will block the killing curse. No one has ever survived. And unless there is a major breakthrough in shield charms, no one ever will."

"You may wonder why I am teaching you about illegal dark curses that even the highest ranks of Aurors are not authorized to use. Believe me, if it were my decision I would not be. There will never be in incident in Hogwarts that you will encounter these curses. God willing, you will never have to deal with such an event in your life. But the ministry has descided that all schools third year and above should know of these curses so they can report on anything suspicious. Rumours are that Grindlewald is using these curses to recruit spies."

"There are several curses that perform a similar function to these three charms. Even a simple disarming charm can kill in certain circumstances. So can anyone tell me why these curses are considered unforgivable?" No one answered. "It takes a great deal of power to cast these curses, as it does with most dark magic. It also takes a strong, negative emotion. Casting these curses is psychologically damaging and opens your soul to darkness. Once darkness is inside you, it never lets go."

He paused, as though trying to work out how to explain himself. "As a race, human are the most violent on the planet. We are the only species that actively tries to destroy each other. Racism, war and genocide: these are only a few words that describe the ugliness we show to our fellow man. A darkness is in the core of every human alive and it has been with us since our ancestors first stood on their hind legs and clubbed his neighbour. In modern, civilised society we can usually keep it under control. If it comes to the surface on its own accord, this is normal and healthy."

"It's when you reach down into your soul and pull the darkness out is the problem."

Tom listened to the lecture in morbid fascination. The way his professor described how once darkness was in the heart, it would consume you. Responsible types were the worst, he had said. Dark magic can grant great power and if a responsible person got a taste of it, something that was bigger than them, they would crave more like an addiction.

The time flew by and before he knew what was happening, his feet were walking him out of the room on autopilot. He wasn't really looking where he was going. He had a case of information overload.

BANG.

Tom had walked into someone, sending papers flying. He looked up to see who had hit him. There were three of them, all clad in Slytherin robes. They were first years whom Tom remembered them been sorted just a few months ago. He especially remembered them by the arrogant, superior smirks they had worn as they had pulled the sorting hat off their heads and crossed the hall to take their place at the Slytherin table. Now what were their names? He was sure that the mousy looking boy was Magnus Abaddon, and the surnames of the other boys were Birch and Draconus. As Tom had learned the hard way, your family name was everything in Slytherin. There was almost an unspoken caste system, with certain purebloods at the top, others lower down. As he was not a pureblood, he was essentially the same as he had been his entire life: an outcast.

"Watch where you're going mud-blood," Abaddon spat. Tom sighed, this was getting old. He had now lived with this attitude for over two years. The immortal threat from Seth Malfoy still hung in the air; so at most the other Slytherins could only make snide comments outside the common room.

"As we are in the corridor, I will not curse you as I'd like to," he replied in an icy cold voice. "Prey you never cross me in the common room. You do not want me as an enemy, Abaddon."

Abaddon sneered. "You dare to threaten me, mud-blood," he snarled. "You are unworthy to even breath in my presence. We'll show you who your true betters are."

Tom just rolled his eyes; he had had worse threats since he had come to Hogwarts. Worse since he had learned to walk, come to think of it. He spun on his heel to leave.

"You dare insult me by turning your back on me?" Abaddon screamed and before anyone could react, he fired a curse at Tom. Tom's robes caught fire. He managed to extinguish the flames but there were several scorch marks that magic wouldn't fix. The full force of the temper that he had been in before class returned in microseconds.

"You little shite. Kitte Imasu," he shouted. A large arrow shot out of his wand and went up the corridor. Abaddon dived out of the way. So did most of the crowd who were watching. Tom began throwing some very offensive spells at his opponent. One finally hit, and the boy doubled over, gasping for air.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?" a voice thundered down the corridor. All eyes turned to see professor Dumbledore marching towards them.

"It was self defence, sir," Tom insisted. "He attacked me first." There was an unenthusiastic murmur of agreement from the assembled crowd.

"That is as maybe but, as you know, magic is strictly banned from the corridors," the older man cut him off. He gazed at Tom. "For a provoked but excessive use of offensive magic, twenty points form Slytherin." Tom was gutted: those were the first points he had ever lost. Dumbledore turned to Abaddon, who looked like he was trying to escape. "For an unprovoked and underhand attack on a fellow student, thirty points from Slytherin and a detention to be determined by your head of house. Now, be off with you."

The crowd thinned and soon Tom was left standing on his own. Had Dumbledore not interfered, he would have continued to curse Abaddon even though he had been down. The voice of his defence teacher rang in his ears.

"_It's when you reach down into your soul and pull the darkness out is the problem."_

AN: hi there. Thank you to my loyal fans who have sent emails begging me to continue the story. It has not been abandoned. I'm having some personal issues at the moment. I'm off to America tomorrow for a month so I won't update for a while. I have two chapters nearly finished but I couldn't complete them before I left.

I had a kind of inspiration recently: until now I had been kind of comparing Tom to Hitler. Both obsessed with their own purity yet both tainted (Tom with muggle blood, Hitler was part Jewish). Now I kind of think as Tom as a twisted version of Michael Jackson. He was a black man who had it all: looks, fame and talent. Now he looks like some kind of circus freak so he can convince himself that he is white.

As a hobby I sort of collect names. Here are the meanings of some of the unusual names I used in this chapter:

**ABADDON** m Biblical  
Means "ruin, destruction" in Hebrew

**AMAYA** f Japanese  
Means "night rain" in Japanese.

**ANGRA MAINYU** m Near Eastern Mythology  
Means "evil spirit" in Avestan

TTFN.


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